


You’re a Mean One, Mr. Winchester - Dean's Therapy Only

by Arianllyn



Series: Therapy [2]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 111,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22700029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianllyn/pseuds/Arianllyn
Summary: This is literally just portions of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Winchester," without the rest of the surrounding story of what's going on while Dean is doing his therapeutic writing.  Each chapter consists of Dean's session with Mia, and his "homework assignment" journal entries/letters of the following week. Where particular short conversations with other characters are relevant, they may be included here as well, but it's ONLY the parts about Dean's therapy.If you've read the main story, you've read all of this already. I just thought it would be an interesting exercise to see Dean's progress laid bare, without the context, and thought others might find it interesting as well.  ;)  I don't think you need to read the main story first to understand this one, but I may be wrong. I'm not going to go through and list in a tag for this story every character to whom Dean wrote a therapeutic letter (I have been doing that for the main story).
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Therapy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814179
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Sam's Ultimatum, Session 1, First Homework Assignment

"Look, you’ve got issues. You’re putting everything on Cas, things that aren’t his fault, things he couldn’t have done anything about. I think you need help, Dean. You’ve gotta sort things out in your own head.

"And dude, you’ve gotta stop drinking. I came in here last night, you were passed out on the floor. So, I put you to bed, but c’mon, man, I found an empty decanter, a dirty glass, three empty bottles in the War Room, and another empty bottle in here. Your liver’s gonna shut itself down, dude. You’re gonna end up in the hospital, or dead, from alcohol poisoning. You need help.”

“So, what do you suggest, Sam? AA? Sit around at a weekly meeting with a bunch of other drunks, where we talk about how great God is? Because I don’t think that’s gonna work, _seeing as how I’ve met the guy_.”

“No, I don’t think AA would help. It would take too long. And going to rehab would likely end up with you being permanently institutionalized, given the things you’d have to explain. There’s too much for anyone to assume it was just a metaphor.

“No, I was thinking therapy with Mia Vallens, Dean. She knows that the things you’d be talking about are real, that monsters exist, because she technically _is_ one. I think she might be, realistically, your only choice for a therapist.

“Make an appointment, Dean, or I’ll do it for you. And make an effort. Because this isn’t just a one-off. You’ve been pushing people away your whole life, Dean, and it has to stop.” Sam smiled, but Dean knew he was serious. This wasn't a suggestion, it was an ultimatum. He'd lost Cas. He couldn't lose Sam, too. So, if Sam wanted him to see a therapist, he would. Even a shapeshifting monster therapist.

Dean huffed out a breath, but then nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay, Sammy. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk about stuff.”

***

“Hello, Dean. Come in, please,” Mia Vallens stepped back to allow Dean to enter her office. He stepped in, and nervously wiped his damp palms on his green Army surplus jacket. “Please, have a seat.”

Dean sat on the couch and looked around. “Did you redecorate? I don’t remember that ficus in the corner being here when we were here last.”

“I did add a few things, but I wouldn’t say it was a redecoration, _per se_. More like a continuation of a decorating plan,” Mia smiled.

“So, Dean, last time you were here, you didn’t seem to want to talk. What’s changed?”

“Um. Well, to be honest…Sam kinda laid down the law and told me I had to get some help. And…and I think, maybe, maybe he might be right.” Dean looked at his hands studiously.

“I’m angry, Mia. All the time. At everyone and everything. I take it out on everyone around me. I push people away, and at this point, really, the only person left is Sam. I’m tired of it. I don’t want this anger anymore.”

Mia nodded. “I told you when you were here last, Dean, that your anger could become a problem. Tell me if I’m wrong, Dean, but I think you tend to push your feelings down, bury them, rather than deal with them; is that right?”

Dean thought about it. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, when do you think you started doing that?”

“Honestly, I don’t remember a time when I didn’t.”

Mia made a note. “Dean, what’s your _earliest_ memory? Think back, take your time. What’s the _very first thing_ you remember?”

Dean closed his eyes and thought. Could he remember back before the fire? Maybe…just…just before….

“I was little. Four. Sam was just a baby. Dad had been on a trip for work, and I remember…he came home early. Mom and I were up in Sammy’s nursery, and he came in and surprised us. I remember he picked me up and gave me a hug, and laughed, and he asked if I thought Sammy was ready to play catch with us yet, and I shook my head and said, ‘No, Daddy!’ and he laughed again. And I think that might have been the last time I ever heard my father laugh.”

Mia made another note. “Why did your father stop laughing, Dean?”

“Because that was the night that my mom died. The night Azazel killed her, fed demon blood to Sammy, and burned down our house.”

“Who was Azazel, Dean?” Mia asked.

“He was a Yellow-Eyed Demon, one of the four Princes of Hell, created by Lucifer. He fed demon blood to certain children to awaken dormant psychic powers in them to find a leader for a demon army. He wanted Sammy to be that leader. Of course, we didn’t know any of that then. We found it all out much, much later.”

“Okay, let’s go back to that day, Dean. After your father laughed, then what happened?”

“Um…we had dinner, and then Mom took me upstairs and put me to bed, while Dad watched the game on TV. And then Mom went to bed, too. I fell asleep. And then I woke up, because there were loud noises that I didn’t understand, people yelling, Mom screamed, and then everything got quiet for a minute. And then, I heard Dad yell, ‘Mary!’ and there was this really loud _whooshing_ noise, which I know now was the fire starting, and I got up and went out in the hallway to see what was going on. Dad came from Sam’s nursery out into the hall, carrying Sammy. He saw me standing there in my pjs, and he handed the baby to me. He told me, _‘Take your brother outside, as fast as you can, and don’t look back,’_ and he went back into the nursery. I carried Sam downstairs and outside, and I think we got about as far as three feet from the porch, and the window of Sam’s nursery blew out, with the flames billowing, smoke rising, and I remember that I could feel the heat, and it was _searing_. And then suddenly, Dad was there, and he was picking me and Sam up in his arms and hugging us, and then running with us in his arms, away from the house and that awful heat, out into the street. And then everything gets confused in my head, with the fire engines, and police cars, and ambulances, and all the neighbors standing around, gossiping.”

“And how did you feel, Dean?” Mia asked.

“I was scared. There was so much noise, and it was dark out and so late. I was tired. I didn’t know where Mom was, and I didn’t understand what was happening. But I was _proud_ , too, that Dad had trusted me with Sammy, and I had gotten him out. And after that, it was always my job to take care of Sam. Dad owned part of an auto repair shop, he was a good mechanic, and for about a year after the fire, he kept working there. But he drank more often, and then, he started hunting. Really, he was looking for answers about what had killed Mom, but he’d go after just about _any_ monster. And he dragged me and Sam along on the road. By the age of eight, I knew how to shoot and to field-strip several kinds of guns. I knew how to make box mac’n’cheese, or heat up canned pasta. I knew how to budget, and could really stretch a dollar. I knew how to salt the windows and doors of our motel room. And Dad would leave us in a motel room, alone, for two or three days at a time, while he was off hunting. It was my job to keep Sammy fed, and safe.”

“And who kept _you_ safe, Dean?” Mia asked.

“Me. There was no one else.” Dean shrugged.

“And how did that make you feel, Dean?”

“Proud. Proud that I could take care of Sam, and myself, and didn’t _need_ help doing it.”

“And is that _all_ you felt, Dean?” Mia prodded, gently.

“Yeah.”

“Really? You weren’t _angry_ with your father, for putting so much responsibility on you and leaving you alone to deal with such tremendous pressure at such a young age?”

Dean’s hand came up and a finger went inside his collar, seeking to loosen it. He could feel his face warming. “Yeah, maybe,” he muttered.

“ _Maybe?_ ” Mia made another note.

“Yeah, okay, yeah, I was angry. I don’t think I even knew it at the time, though.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t realize it _then_ , Dean. But you do realize it _now_ , yes? That you were angry with your father, and that he deserved that anger?”

Dean nodded, and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, Mia, I was - hell, I still _am_. And he _did_ deserve it. I built him way up in my mind as this great guy, this _hero_ , but really…he was a _drunk_ who abandoned his kids for days at a time.”

“Is that _all_ he did, Dean?” Mia asked.

“N-no. He….”

“He what, Dean?”

“He _yelled_. A lot. At both of us, but more me than Sam. He favored Sammy. I was his little soldier, someone to give orders who had to fulfill them. Sammy was the golden child,” Dean stated. It was just a fact, not said with bitterness.

“Is that it, Dean? Just yelling and favoring Sam?”

“N-no. He…he hit me. Hell, he _beat_ me. I didn’t misbehave, ever, I was never rebellious – that was Sam – but if I didn’t do what Dad told me to do, _exactly_ as he told me to do it, there was hell to pay.”

“Did he hit Sam, too?”

“No. I wouldn’t let him. If it looked like Sam might get into trouble, I found a way to get Dad’s attention. Made him hit me, instead,” Dean admitted.

“Did he hit you before the fire, Dean?”

“I…I don’t think so. I don’t remember him hitting me _after_ the fire, either, until….”

“Until when, Dean?”

“I think it started with the shtriga attack. I think I was…maybe ten years old, so Sammy was six. Dad left us alone, again, told me not to set foot outside the motel room. I put Sam to bed, and he was asleep, and I was bored. The motel had a little arcade room, so I went to play a game. When I got back, there was this…thing, attacking Sammy. I-I tried to stop it, but I wasn’t getting anywhere, and at the last minute, Dad came in and shot it. He gathered Sam to his chest in a hug, and then turned to me. He yelled at me, wanted to know how I could let it happen. I said that I’d just wanted some _air_ , a minute to myself, and he just hauled off and backhanded me across the face. Told me I was a selfish brat, that it was my job to take care of my brother, and I had _failed_. And then he packed up all our stuff, and drove us to his friend’s house, and we stayed with Pastor Jim for a while. Didn’t hear from Dad for a few months. Didn’t know if he was alive or dead, whether he was okay or not. And then one day, he was there, and it was back on the road for us, like nothing had happened.”

“How did that make you feel, Dean?” Mia wanted to know.

“Like a fucking _boomerang_. It was always all or nothing with Dad. Either he was there, completely in the moment, laser focused, or he was just _gone_ , out the door, leaving us alone. Never any explanation, beyond, _‘I was working a case, Dean.’_ Just, _‘Take care of your brother, boy.’_ Or, _‘here’s some money, I’ve gotta go for a while, but I’ll be back.’_ And sometimes he came back before the money ran out, but sometimes he _didn’t_. And I’d be _terrified_ that I wouldn’t be able to keep Sammy safe, and fed, that we’d get kicked out of the motel room, and have nowhere to go, or that Child Protective Services would take us, and we’d never see Dad again. And sometimes….” Dean’s voice cracked, and a tear slid down his cheek. “Sometimes, I wished he _wouldn’t_ come back. That I could just take Sammy and go away, find somewhere safe, and get a job, and not have to _worry_ anymore.”

“I understand, Dean. You were a child, forced to become a parent, and take on responsibilities you never should have had to deal with at that age. I think you _should_ be angry with your father, Dean. _He failed you_. _**You**_ didn’t fail, not him, and not Sam. You did very well, Dean. I think you shoved that anger down because it wasn’t safe then to let it surface. _But it’s safe now, Dean._ You can give yourself permission to feel that anger, let it out. _**Be angry**_ with your father, Dean. It’s okay.”

Dean nodded, gasping for breath like a landed fish, tears streaming down his face, as long-buried emotions swamped him. “Oh, God, Mia…I was so _mad_. I was so _angry_. I hated him. _I_ ** _hated_** _him_. _That_ ** _bastard_** _! He had_ ** _no right!_** ”

“No, he didn’t, Dean. You’re absolutely right. Let it out, Dean. Let it out, and let it go.” Mia moved to sit next to Dean, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Dean turned into her, and bawled like a baby, and Mia let him.

“That’s it. That’s it. Let it all out. Very good.”

A few moments passed, and the tears slowed. Dean shuddered, and took the tissue that Mia held out for him. He blew his nose and wiped his eyes. He drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“You know…I actually did let that out once before,” Dean said.

“Did you?”

Dean nodded. “I was kind of having a fight with...myself, and I admitted that I was mad at Dad. But then, after…it was like I just swallowed it right back down. Went right back to ignoring it. Guess I can’t do that anymore, huh?”

“No. You can’t. This won’t be the last time we talk about your father, Dean. But this was a very good first step.

"I want to give you some homework, Dean. I want you to start a journal. I want you to write it from the standpoint of that ten-year-old Dean, who just needed some air and some free time. Write about what happened, and how you felt about it. Each night, for a week, write about that one incident, without looking back at the prior entries. And then bring that with you when you come back next week. Can you do that?”

“Write about the same night, each night for a week? Um…okay. Kinda don’t see the point, but, sure. I can do that.”

“Good. Okay, then. See you next week, Dean.” Mia smiled and showed Dean out.

***

_** First journal entry - Tuesday afternoon, after session. ** _

_It was hot. It was mid-summer, and the motel room we were staying in either didn’t have AC, or it just wasn’t working, I don’t remember which._

_It wasn’t all that late, but Sam was only six, so I always tried to get him to sleep early. Little kids need sleep. So, I think it was around 7:30, or maybe 8:00, and Sammy was sleeping. I was hot, and bored, and nowhere close to being ready to try to sleep myself._

_I remember thinking how I just wanted some air, maybe the arcade room would have AC, and what was the harm in heading out for a little bit? So, I went, and I played some stupid game for maybe ten minutes. But it wasn’t any cooler there, and the game wasn’t all that exciting, so I was just as bored, and I went back to the room._

_The first thing I noticed once inside was that the temperature in the room was about ten degrees cooler, both than it had been when I left, and than it was outside. And, being John Winchester’s kid, my first thought was ‘ghost’, so I picked up the tire iron in the corner by the door, and crept in, looking around, trying to be quiet. And then I saw it – a hooded figure, sitting on the edge of Sammy’s bed, its arms around Sam, and it was like it was eating Sam’s energy, or his soul or something._

_I ran forward and tried to hit the figure with the tire iron, without hitting Sammy. But it just passed right through the thing, like it had no effect on it at all. So I tried again, and still nothing._

_And then, out of nowhere, Dad was behind me. He shoved me back out of the way and shot the thing with his shotgun. It looked up, but then suddenly it just dissipated like smoke, and it was gone._

_Dad dropped the shotgun on the floor, and I picked it up. He sat on the edge of the bed, gathered Sammy to him, and cuddled him, then looked up at me with wild eyes._

_He yelled at me, “How could you let this happen?”_

_I said I had only been gone a few minutes, I just wanted some air._

_He hauled off and backhanded me across the face. Told me I was a selfish brat, that it was my job to take care of my brother, and I had failed._

_And then he packed up all our stuff, and drove us to Pastor Jim’s house. We stayed with Pastor Jim for a few months._

_And that’s the way it was._

***

_** Second journal entry - Wednesday afternoon. ** _

_It was hot. It was right after the Fourth of July, and the motel we were staying in didn’t have AC. The room was bigger than most, and it had a separate little bedroom area, and a kitchen with a full-size refrigerator. I made some canned pasta for Sammy for dinner, but he didn’t want it, so I gave him the last of the cereal instead, and ate the pasta myself._

_Then I put Sam to bed. It wasn’t all that late, but Sam was only six, so I always tried to get him to sleep early. Little kids need sleep._

_So, around 8:00, Sammy was sleeping, and I was watching TV, but it was an episode of_ **_Hogan’s Heroes_ ** _that I had already seen a million times, and I was bored._

_I remember thinking that maybe reception would be cooler, and I knew there were some arcade games there. I had a bunch of quarters left over from doing laundry the day before, so, I went, and I played a few games. But it wasn’t any cooler there, so I went back to the room._

_The first thing I noticed once inside was a strange light coming from the bedroom. I grabbed the shotgun by the door, and crept in, trying to be quiet. And then I saw it – a hooded figure, sitting on the edge of Sammy’s bed, its arms around Sam, and it was like it was eating Sam’s energy, or his soul or something._

_I cocked the gun, but the thing heard the noise, and hissed at me. And then, out of nowhere, Dad was behind me. He shoved me back out of the way and shot the thing with his pistol, and it went out the window, which was open a crack._

_Dad sat on the edge of the bed, gathered Sammy to him, and cuddled him, then looked up at me with wild eyes._

_He yelled at me, “How could you let this happen?”_

_I said I just went out to get some air. He told me I was a selfish brat, that I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, that it was my job to take care of my brother, and I had failed._

_And then he packed up all our stuff, and drove us to Pastor Jim’s house. We stayed with Pastor Jim for a few months._

_And that’s the way it was._

***

_** Third journal entry - Thursday afternoon. ** _

_It was hot. It was right after school got out for the year, so, mid-June, but the motel we were staying in didn’t have AC. The room was bigger than most, and it had a separate little bedroom, and a kitchen with a stove and a full-size refrigerator. I made some canned pasta for Sammy for dinner, but he didn’t want it, so I gave him the last of the Lucky Charms instead, even though I hadn’t had any, and threw the pasta away._

_Then I put Sam to bed. It wasn’t all that late, but Sam was only six, so I always tried to get him to sleep early. Little kids need sleep._

_He kept whining about how hot it was, so I cracked the window for him, figuring I could close it after he fell asleep._

_So, around 8:30, Sammy was sleeping, and I was watching TV, but it was an episode of_ **_The Dukes of Hazard_ ** _that I had already seen a million times, and I was bored._

_I had a bunch of quarters left over from doing laundry the day before, so, I went to reception, and I played arcade games until the desk clerk told me he was closing up for the night._

_The first thing I noticed when I got back was a strange light coming from the bedroom. I grabbed the rifle by the door, and crept in, trying to be quiet. And then I saw a hooded dark figure, leaning over Sammy threateningly._

_I cocked the gun, but the thing heard the noise, and it reared up and hissed at me. And then, Dad burst into the room. He shoved me back out of the way and shot the thing with his pistol, and it went out the window._

_Dad sat on the edge of the bed, gathered Sammy to him, and cuddled him, then looked up at me with wild eyes._

_He yelled at me, “How could you let this happen?”_

_I said I just went out to get some air. He told me I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, that it was my job to take care of my brother, and I had failed._

_And then he packed up all our stuff, and drove us to Pastor Jim’s house. We stayed with Pastor Jim for a few months._

_And that’s the way it was._

***

_** Fourth journal entry - Friday afternoon. ** _

_It was hot. It was early June, but it had been unseasonably warm for a while, and we were due for a storm, so there was that oppressive mugginess you get when it really ought to have started raining already but it just won’t start. The motel we were staying in didn’t have AC, but it was a little suite, with a separate little bedroom, and a kitchen with a full-size refrigerator, a stove, and a table with chairs._

_I made some macaroni and marshmallow fluff crap for Sammy for dinner, but he didn’t want it (can’t really blame him, neither did I). He wanted Lucky Charms. There was only one bowl of it left, and I hadn’t had any, but he did that puppy-dog eyes thing that he knows gets me. So, I gave him the last of the Lucky Charms instead, even though I hadn’t had any, and threw the pasta crap away._

_After dinner, I let Sammy watch TV with me for a while, but eventually he went to bed. It wasn’t all that late, but Sam was only six, and little kids need sleep. So, by 9:00, Sammy was sleeping, and I was watching TV, but it was an episode of_ **_The Love Boat_ ** _that I had already seen, and I was bored._

_I had some quarters that I’d found, so, I went over to reception, and I played arcade games until the desk clerk told me he was closing up for the night, around 2:00._

_The first thing I noticed when I got back was a strange light coming from the bedroom. I grabbed the rifle by the door, and crept in, trying to be quiet. And then I saw a hooded dark figure, leaning over Sammy._

_I cocked the gun, but the thing heard the noise, and it reared up and hissed at me. And then, Dad came into the room. He shouted at me to get out of the way and shot the thing with his pistol several times, and it went out the window, shattering the glass._

_Dad woke Sammy, hugged him close, and made sure he was okay, then looked up at me, and asked, “What happened?”_

_I said I went out. He told me I knew I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, wasn’t supposed to let Sammy out of my sight._

_And then he packed up all our stuff, and drove us to Pastor Jim’s house. We stayed with Pastor Jim for a few months._

_And that’s the way it was._

***

_** Fifth journal entry - Saturday afternoon. ** _

_It was hot. It was late May or early June, but it had been unseasonably warm for a while, and we were due for a storm, so it has humid, too. There was that oppressive mugginess you get when it really ought to have started raining already but the storm just won’t come. The motel we were staying in had AC, but it wasn’t working. It was more than a room that time, it was a little suite, with a separate little bedroom, and a kitchen with a full-size refrigerator, a stove, and a table with chairs._

_I made some macaroni and marshmallow fluff crap for Sammy for dinner, but he didn’t want it (can’t really blame him, neither did I). He wanted Lucky Charms. There was only a little of it left, and I hadn’t had any, but he did that puppy-dog eyes thing that he knows gets me. So, even though I really wanted it, I gave him the last of the Lucky Charms. I threw the pasta crap away._

_After dinner, I let Sammy watch TV with me for a while, but eventually he went to bed. It wasn’t all that late, but Sam was only six, and little kids need sleep. So, by 10:00, Sammy was sleeping, and I was watching TV, but it was an episode of_ **_Dallas_ ** _that I had already seen, and I was bored._

_I had a roll of quarters I had stolen from the laundromat, thinking I might do laundry that weekend if Dad hadn’t come back yet. I figured I could use some of them on myself, so, I went over to reception, and I played arcade games until the desk clerk told me he was closing up for the night, around 2:00._

_The first thing I noticed when I got back was this weird light coming from the bedroom. I grabbed the rifle by the door, and crept over to the bedroom door, trying to be quiet. I pushed the door open, and I saw a dark figure, leaning over Sammy._

_I cocked the gun, but the thing reared up and hissed at me. It scared me, and I hesitated. And then, Dad came into the room. He shouted at me to get out of the way and shot the thing with his pistol several times, and it went out the window, shattering the glass._

_Dad woke Sammy, hugged him close, and made sure he was okay. Then Dad glared at me, and asked, “What happened?”_

_I said I just went out. He said that he had told me I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, that he had told me I wasn’t supposed to let Sammy out of my sight. He went back to hugging and loving on Sammy, and ignoring me._

_And then he packed up all our stuff, and drove us to Pastor Jim’s house. We stayed with Pastor Jim for a while, I’m not sure how long._

_And that’s the way it was._

***

_** Sixth journal entry - Sunday afternoon. ** _

_It was hot. It was late May or early June, but it had been unseasonably warm for a while, and we were due for a storm, so it has humid, too. There was that oppressive mugginess you get when it really ought to have started raining already but the storm just won’t come. The motel we were staying in had AC, but it wasn’t working. It was more than a room that time, it was a little suite, with a separate little bedroom, and a kitchen with a full-size refrigerator, a stove, and a table with chairs._

_I made some macaroni and marshmallow fluff crap for Sammy for dinner, but he didn’t want it after I added chocolate syrup (can’t really blame him, neither did I). He said he wanted Lucky Charms, but there was only a little of it left, and I hadn’t had any. But, Sam being Sam, he did that puppy-dog eyes thing that he knows always gets me. So, even though I really wanted it, I gave him the last of the Lucky Charms. I threw the pasta crap away._

_After dinner, I let Sammy watch TV with me for a while, but eventually he went to bed on his own. It wasn’t all that late, but Sam was only six, and little kids need sleep. So, by 10:00, Sammy was sleeping, and I was watching TV, but it was an episode of_ **_Dallas_ ** _that I had already seen, and I was bored._

_I had a roll of quarters I had stolen from the laundromat, thinking I might do laundry that weekend if Dad hadn’t come back yet. I figured I could use some of them on myself, and still have enough for a couple of loads of clothes. So, I went over to reception, and I played arcade games until the desk clerk told me he was closing up for the night, around 2:00._

_When I got back to the room, there was this weird light coming from around the bedroom door. I grabbed the rifle, went over to the bedroom door, pushed it open, and I saw a dark figure, leaning over Sammy. I cocked the gun, but the thing reared up and hissed at me. It scared me, and I hesitated._

_And then, Dad came into the room. He shouted at me to “get out of the way!” He shot the thing with his pistol several times, and it went out the window, shattering the glass. Then Dad woke Sammy, hugged him close, and asked if he was okay. Sam said he was. Then Dad glared at me, and asked, “What happened?”_

_I said I just went out. He said that he had told me I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, that he had told me I wasn’t supposed to let Sammy out of my sight. He went back to hugging and loving on Sammy, and ignoring me._

_And then he packed up all our stuff, and drove us to Pastor Jim’s house. We stayed with Pastor Jim for a while, I’m not sure how long._

_And that’s the way it was._

***

_** Seventh journal entry - Monday afternoon. ** _

_It was really hot. It was late May ~~or early June~~ , but it had been unseasonably warm for a while, and we were due for a storm, so it has humid, too. The weather guy on the news said it might even be tornado weather. There was that oppressive mugginess you get when it really ought to have started raining already but the storm just won’t come. The motel we were staying in ~~either~~ didn’t have AC, ~~or it wasn’t working,~~ but we had more than a regular room that time; it was a little suite, with a separate little bedroom, and a kitchen with a full-size refrigerator, a stove, and a table with chairs._

_I made some macaroni and marshmallow fluff crap for Sammy for dinner, but he didn’t want it after I added chocolate syrup and ham (can’t really blame him, neither did I). He said he wanted Lucky Charms, but there was only a little of it left, and I hadn’t had any. But, Sam being Sam, he did that puppy-dog eyes thing that he knows always gets me. So, even though I really wanted it, I gave him the last of the Lucky Charms. I threw the pasta crap away._

_After dinner, I let Sammy watch TV with me for a while, but eventually he went to bed on his own. It wasn’t all that late, but Sam was only six, and little kids need sleep. So, by 10:30, Sammy was sleeping, and I was watching TV, but it was an episode of_ **_Dallas_ ** _that I had already seen, and I was bored._

_I had a roll of quarters I had stolen from the laundromat, thinking I might do laundry that weekend if Dad hadn’t come back yet. I figured I could spend some of them on myself, and still have enough for at least one load of clothes. So, I went over to reception, and I played arcade games until the desk clerk told me he was closing up for the night, around 3:00._

_When I got back to the room, there was this weird light coming from around the bedroom door. I grabbed the rifle, went over to the bedroom door, pushed it open, and I saw a figure leaning over Sammy. I cocked the gun, but the thing reared up and hissed at me. It scared me, and I hesitated to shoot._

_And then, Dad came in, shouted at me to “get out of the way,” and shot the thing with his pistol several times. The thing went out the bedroom window, shattering the glass. Then Dad woke Sammy, hugged him close, and asked if he was okay._

_Sam said, “Yeah Dad, what's going on?”_

_T_ _hen Dad glared at me, and asked, “What happened?”_

_I said, "I went out."_

_Dad said, “What?!”_

_I said it was just for a second and that I was sorry._

_He said that he had told me I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, that he had told me I wasn’t supposed to let Sammy out of my sight._

_Then he went back to hugging and loving on Sammy. He ignored me._

_And then he packed up all our stuff, and drove us to Pastor Jim’s house. We stayed with Pastor Jim for a while, I’m not sure how long._

_And that’s the way it was._

***


	2. Second Session and the Next Week's Homework

“Hello, Dean. Come in, please,” Mia Vallens stepped back to allow Dean to enter her office again.

“Please, have a seat. Did you bring your journal?”

Dean nodded and handed her the notebook.

“Now, Dean, let’s review. What was the assignment? Do you recall, specifically?” she asked.

“To write about the shtriga attack incident each day, without looking back at prior entries.”

“That’s correct. As I recall, last week, when I asked you to do this assignment, you felt a little silly. So, having done the exercise, Dean, how do you feel about it now?”

“Still silly. I didn’t look back at the prior entries, as you’d asked, but, Mia, I’m sure I wrote the same damn thing every time. I mean, it’s not like my memories are gonna change from day to day. I just don’t get the point of it.” Dean kept his tone reasonable, but Mia knew he’d been frustrated.

“Okay, Dean. Can I take a minute and read through the entries? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead,” Dean gave permission.

Mia opened the notebook and read through each entry, then went back and with a red pen started making notations.

“Wow, it really was homework, you’re grading my work and making corrections,” Dean joked.

Mia smiled.

“Not exactly, Dean. You said you were sure you had written the same thing each day. But actually, there are several differences from entry to entry. You vary details significantly. I’m marking the differences, so you’ll be able to see them,” Mia told him, pen still moving quietly.

Dean was stunned.

_My memories shifted from day to day? What the Hell?_

“Um, Mia…is that…um…usual? For someone’s memories to…shift like that?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, absolutely, Dean. Don’t worry.” She handed the notebook back to Dean.

As Dean looked at all the red ink, he could see where he had, indeed, changed details, sometimes small, sometimes large, but each entry was, in fact, different in some way from every other entry.

“Now, Dean, what I’d like to do, if you’re willing, is to put you under hypnosis, and take you back to that day, and have you remember what, exactly, really happened. My guess is that your last entry is likely the closest to reality. Would you like to find out?”

Dean nodded, wide-eyed.

“I had no idea I was doing this,” he whispered.

“I know, Dean. It’s fine, it’s very common, truly. So, ready to find out the truth? Lay back on the couch and get comfortable.

"Just relax. Let all the tension and stress of the last few weeks drain out of you and into the couch. Don’t worry, the couch can take it.”

Dean could hear the humor in her voice, and would have grinned, but he felt so relaxed already, he didn’t want to tense up his facial muscles.

Mia continued to take him through some additional relaxation exercises, then counted backward from ten and quietly snapped her fingers.

“Okay, Dean, you understand what we’re doing. You’re under hypnosis. You’re relaxed, and calm, and you’ll stay that way. Now listen to my voice, Dean. You’ll hear me, no matter what else is going on. Okay?

“Now, think back, let yourself remember. You’re in a motel. You’re with your father, and Sam. Your father is giving you instructions. What is he saying, Dean?”

“Dad’s saying that I know the drill. _‘Anybody calls, you don’t pick up. If it’s me, I’ll ring once, then call back. You got that?’_

:And then I said that I would _‘only answer the phone unless it rings once first.’_

"Dad said, _‘come on, dude, look alive. This stuff is important.’_

"And I said that I knew that, but we’d _‘gone over it like a million times and you know I’m not stupid.’_

"And then he admitted that he knew that, _‘but it only takes one mistake, you got that?’_

"I didn’t answer. And then he said that if he wasn’t back by Sunday night, and I said then I should _‘call Pastor Jim.’_

"And then he told me to _‘lock the doors, the windows, close the shades, and, most important….’_ And then we both said, together, _‘watch out for Sammy.’_ And I said _‘I know.’_

"Dad said, _‘All right. If something tries to bust in?’_

"And I said, _‘shoot first, ask questions later.’_

"And Dad said _‘that’s my man.’_ And then he left.”

“Good, Dean. And now it’s a few nights later. It’s the evening of the attack. You’ve made dinner. Tell me what you remember,” Mia prompted.

“Sammy was sitting at the kitchen table. The room wasn’t like a regular motel room, it was almost an apartment, but it still had kind of a skeevy feel to it, ‘cause it was so run down and kinda grimy. But it had a separate bedroom, and a kitchen with a stove and a full-sized refrigerator, and a real table with chairs to eat at, and that was kinda nice.

“I poured Sammy a glass of milk and set it on the table, and he asked _‘when’s Dad gonna get back?’_ and I had made canned pasta, and it was ready, so I grabbed the pot from the stove, and said, _‘tomorrow.’_

"And Sammy asked _‘when?’_ I dumped the pasta into a bowl for him, and said, _‘I dunno. He usually comes in late though. Now eat your dinner.’_

"And then Sammy said _‘I’m sick of scabetti-ohs,’_ – he couldn’t say ‘spaghetti’ right then – and that frustrated me, because he’d asked me to make them, so I said, _‘you’re the one who wanted’em!’_ And then he said he wanted Lucky Charms, the cereal.

“But I wanted him to eat the pasta, because it was already made, and I didn’t want it going to waste. So I told him, _‘there’s no more Lucky Charms,’_ but he said he’d seen the box and knew that there was. So I said, _‘okay, maybe there is, but there’s only enough for one bowl and I haven’t had any yet.’_

"But then Sam gave me his puppy-dog-eye look, which he knows always gets me to give in, and so I sighed, dumped the pasta in the trash, and put the cereal box on the table. And then, because Sammy was really a good kid, he goes and gets the prize out of the box, and offers it to me, saying, _‘d’you want the prize?’_ So I took it, because it was a peace offering, even though I really didn’t care about the stupid prize.”

“Very good, Dean. Now it’s later that evening. How are you feeling? What did you do next?” Mia asked, calmly.

“It was our third night in this crap room, and I was _climbing the walls_. I needed…oh, man, I just needed to get some _air_. I’d been watching TV for hours, Sam was sound asleep. By 11:00, I just couldn’t sit there anymore. So I turned the TV off, checked in on Sammy, and then left, locking the door behind me. And I went down to reception, and I played arcade games until the desk clerk told me _‘kid, we’re closing up.’_

“I went back to the room, and there was this weird light coming from the bedroom, so I moved closer, and saw this dark figure, the shtriga, leaning over Sammy. I reached for the rifle by the door, and cocked it, but the shtriga heard that, and it reared up and _hissed_ at me. I was _terrified_ , I _froze_.

"And then Dad burst into the room, handgun raised. He shouted at me to _‘get out of the way!’_ so I ducked down, and he shot the shtriga three or four times, and it jumped out the bedroom window, shattering the glass.

"And then Dad rushed over to Sammy and pulled him close, and said, _‘Sammy. Sammy. Sammy. You okay?’_

"And Sammy woke up, and said, _‘Yeah, Dad. What’s going on?’_ and Dad said, _‘you all right?’_ and hugged him close, and then turned to just absolutely glare at me, and he demanded, _‘what happened?’_

“And I kinda stammered out, _‘I…I…I just went out.’_ And Dad said, _‘What?!’_ and I said, _‘just for a second. I’m sorry!’_ And Dad said, _‘I told you not to leave this room. I told you not to let him out of your sight!’_ And then he just went back to hugging Sammy, and ignoring me.

“And then he packed up all our stuff, and we booked it outta there. Dad dropped us off at Pastor Jim’s. We were there a while, I’m not sure how long.”

“Good job, Dean. I’m going to count backward from ten, and you’re going to wake up, and feel very relaxed and calm, okay? Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one.”

Mia snapped her fingers quietly, and Dean’s eyes fluttered open. He couldn’t even remember having closed them.

“Oh, wow, Mia. That was intense,” Dean said.

“How are you feeling, Dean?”

“Good. Good, I’m…I’m actually feeling pretty good.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck gently.

“So, now we know how it all happened. And it happened a good deal differently from the way you related it to me last week, and fairly close to the way your last journal entry described it.

"So, Dean, did your father shove or hit you in this incident?” Mia probed, gently.

“No, he _didn’t_. He _yelled_ at me, but God, I was actually gone, and left Sammy alone, for _hours_. I _deserved_ to be yelled at for that, even _without_ the shtriga attack. And, you know, Mia, Dad never spoke about it again. I never brought it up to him, either. But after that…he looked at me differently, which was _worse_ than him hitting me. If he’d hit me, that would’ve been it, and it would’ve been over. Y’know, Sam gave me a lot of crap, over the years, after that, for always following Dad’s orders. But he gave me an order, I didn’t listen, and I almost got Sammy killed.”

“So, it wasn’t that he was physically violent that made this incident stand out for you, Dean. It was that this was the incident where you became the obedient little soldier. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, now I need to ask, Dean. Last week, you said your father hit you, and often, and you said this was the incident where that began. But _he didn’t actually hit you, here_. So… _did_ he hit you? And, if so, when did that _really_ start?

“Let’s have that be your homework this week, Dean. I want you to think about that aspect of your relationship with your father. Think about it on your own, first, and then talk with Sam, and have him tell you what he remembers. It may not be as much, or as clear, since he was younger, but see what he says. You can journal about it, or not, as you choose.

“And then we’ll discuss this more next week. Okay?” Mia walked him to the door.

“Yeah, Mia. Okay. Thanks.” Dean left the office and walked slowly out to the Impala. Physically, he felt fine – good, actually – but emotionally, he felt like he’d been hit by a Mack truck.

 _Had_ his father hit him? How confused _were_ his memories, anyway? And what _caused_ this confusion?

***

_** Tuesday evening, after second session. ** _

_What do I really remember? I’m not sure I even know._

_I was four when Mom died, five when Dad gave up the shop to go out on the road to hunt. Sammy was still in diapers, not even talking. I should’ve been in kindergarten, but I don’t even remember when I first got to go to school. We moved around so much, stayed in so many different places that were somehow all the same, for so long, that it’s all just such a blur. One shitty motel room after another, Dad gone for days or even weeks at a time, having to be alert, watchful, on guard at all times, crap food, making sure that Sammy got something to eat, even if meant I didn’t._

_I wanted Sam to just be a kid, but that meant that I never got to be one. None of it was ever remotely Sammy’s fault, but it was so unfair. I resented that he got the food, that he got to be the normal one, that I had to be the one who always had to take care of everything, that he got to be good in school because he wasn’t worrying about how to scrounge something for dinner, while I couldn’t concentrate on classes because I was_ **_always_ ** _worried about everything else._

_What if Dad didn’t come back this time? What if we ran out of money? What if someone noticed us and called the police, or CPS? What if I couldn’t keep Sammy fed? What if I had to go more than 2-3 days without food, and passed out or something? Who would take care of Sammy then?_

_Stress was my constant, my default setting. I hid it, for Sam’s sake, put on this laid-back, tough guy persona, but God dammit, I was just_ **_scared_ ** _. I couldn’t let Sammy see how scared, because then he’d be afraid, too, and it’d be a giant horrible feedback loop of never-ending terror. Humor, charm, and competence became my cover._

_I’ve never told Sam that I resented him back then. I never will. I_ **_don’t_ ** _resent him, now. Like I said, it was never his fault._

**_But it wasn’t my fault, either._ ** _I was a toddler when Mom died. I didn’t cause her death._ **_I didn’t ask to be a parent from the age of four._ **

_Of that much, I’m certain. All of those memories, blurry as they may be, are real._

_So, what, exactly, do I remember about_ **_Dad?_ **

_I remember him drilling me for hours, making extensive obstacle courses in empty fields and making me run them over and over. I remember him teaching me to shoot, and making me shoot at beer cans on a wall for hours. I remember him teaching me how to be quiet in the woods, how to track, stay low, keep hidden. For me, that training started at around age 6, I think. I know I could field-strip the guns by 8. I don’t remember when he started training Sam in the life, but I know Sammy was older than I had been when I started._

_I made Dad put Sammy in kindergarten when I was 9 and Sam was 5; I should’ve been in fifth grade, but I’d missed so much school they had to test me to place me, and put me in third, instead. Sammy could already read – I had been working with him on it – so after two weeks, they passed him up to first grade, and then we were both in school all day._

_What I_ **_think_ ** _I remember is that even when Dad_ **_was_ ** _around, he drank. And drinking made Dad either really sad and maudlin, or really mean. He was prone to fits of melancholy, where he’d want to talk to me about Mom for hours after Sammy was asleep. He’d tell me the same stories over and over, how they met, how they fell in love, blah blah blah. That was mostly after he’d been drinking beer. When he’d been drinking the hard stuff, usually whiskey, he’d go into hard-core training mode, tell me how I had to be careful at all times, couldn’t ever let my guard down, had to be tough, a soldier, a Marine like he was. He’d yell, tell me how I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, how disappointed in me he was, how I was a failure to him as a son, a constant reminder to him of Mom’s death._

**_And I remember him hitting me._ ** _I think. I’m sure he must have. I_ **_remember_ ** _being backhanded across the face, more than once. I_ **_remember_ ** _being beaten with his fists. I_ **_remember_ ** _watching as he pulled his belt off, knowing what was coming. I_ **_remember_ ** _being whipped with it. I_ **_remember_ ** _diverting his attention from Sammy more than once, taking a beating that otherwise would have been Sam’s._ **_I remember these things._ ** _I do. I’m sure I do._

_But I was so sure he’d hit me after the shtriga attack, that now that I know he didn’t hit me_ **_then_ ** _, I’m questioning every memory I have of his abuse._

_Mia asked me to think about the_ **_first time_ ** _he hit me, but I can’t track it down in my head. So, now I don’t know if it ever happened._

_**What the hell is wrong with me?** _

***

_** Wednesday afternoon ** _

_It’s odd, but I’m finding journaling to be soothing. I didn’t think I’d like it. I thought it would be more like work. But instead, it’s a little liberating. I can write anything, because it’s only for me, unless it’s something Mia asked me to write and will want to see. Even then, I trust Mia not to judge me for what I put on the page; yesterday’s session proved that I could. She noted the memory shifts from entry to entry, but she did that to help me, and didn’t pass judgment on me at all. It helped._

_I asked Sam if he remembered Dad hitting me, and his response was immediate - “Yeah, Dean. Of course I do.” On the one hand, that’s comforting, because it comports with my memories that Dad hit me. On the other hand, it’s disturbing, because I had thought I had been successful in protecting Sammy from the knowledge of Dad’s abuse of me._

_I didn’t ask him if Dad had ever hit_ **_him_ ** _. Maybe I should. If I wasn’t successful in protecting him from the knowledge that Dad was hitting me, maybe I wasn’t as successful as I thought at protecting him from being hit himself._ **_Shit_ ** _._

_I suppose it was inevitable that Sammy would have seen Dad hitting me. It’s not like there was a lot of space or a separate room to go into, where he wouldn’t hear when Dad started yelling or landing blows. Being hit with a belt isn’t exactly a silent thing, and it’s not like Dad ever tried to be quiet about it._

_I was the one who had to try to be quiet, after. I didn’t want Sammy to hear me crying. It would have upset him. Didn’t want Dad to hear, either. “Boys don’t cry. Suck it up.” How many times did I hear that, over the years?_

_I still can’t pinpoint when Dad first hit me. When did everything become such a fucking_ **_blur_ ** _? Seems like my whole life is just this kaleidoscope of overlapping imagery, and when I try to focus on just one thing, it all shifts._

_I mean, I remember Hell. I remember every_ **_second_ ** _of Hell. And_ **_since_ ** _Hell, that’s all pretty clear. But before I went?_

_Certain things stand out:_

_\- Sam collapsing in my arms after Jake stabbed him in the back._

_\- Dad flatlining and the Colt being missing._

_\- Sam going in to kill Madison, tears streaming down his face._

_\- Sam and Dad hugging in Chicago._

_\- Bursting into Sam’s apartment, the ceiling – and Jess – on fire._

_\- Sam introducing me to Jess._

_\- Sam and Dad arguing over Sam going to Stanford, Sam walking out, and Dad telling him that if he left, not to come back._

_\- Dad coming back for me, after leaving me at Sonny’s for almost three months. Not wanting to leave when he finally came back for me, but looking out the window and seeing Sammy in the back of the Impala, and knowing I_ **_had_ ** _to, for his sake._

_\- The shtriga attack, now that I remember it correctly, but even that was kind of blurry before Mia hypnotized me._

_\- The fire starting, and taking Sammy outside._

_But all the rest? It all just blends together in a haze._

_If I can remember clearly back to Hell, and I remember being in Hell_ **_very_ ** _clearly, why can’t I remember clearly what happened_ **_before_ ** _Hell?_

_Maybe something happened to my memories in Hell?_

_Or when a certain angel pulled me out…._

_When Cas pulled Sam out of the Cage, he had to leave Sam’s soul behind; Death had to go back for it, later. But I thought that had to do with the Cage, itself, not Hell generally. I don’t recall Cas ever mentioning a problem with my soul, and he would have. Wouldn’t he?_

_And now I_ **_really_ ** _wish I could talk to Cas._

_Well, I can’t. But I_ **_can_ ** _talk to Sam. Mia told me to, after I’d tried to remember things myself. Well, I’ve tried, and I can’t get it clear on my own. So, next step, Sammy. He did say he wanted to help._

***

“Hey, Sam?”

Sam put the mug down. He knew Dean’s signals, and this one meant a serious talk was coming.

“Yeah?” Sam waited.

“I’m having some trouble with…well, with remembering certain things clearly. Things from when we were growing up, up through when I went to Hell. Hell, and after, that’s all clear as a bell. But before that, I have these odd…memory shifts, where I think I remember something, but if I try to focus on it, the memory changes slightly. Certain things stand out, but those are a little few and far between. Everything just kind of blurs together in my head, and I’m having trouble sorting through memories and figuring out what’s real and solid, on the one hand, and what’s shifty and changing, on the other.

"In our session yesterday, Mia hypnotized me, and I got back solid details of the shtriga attack, which I hadn’t really remembered properly before that. And what changed, from the ‘shifty’ memory that I’d had, to the solid memory I have now, was that in the ‘shifty’ memory, Dad hauled off and backhanded me across the face. Turns out, that didn’t really happen. So….” Dean’s voice trailed off for a second.

Then, he continued, “Mia’s homework for me this week was to try to pin down the first time Dad hit me, and I – I can’t do it, Sam. I have memories of Dad hitting me, _beating_ me, even. But I can’t pinpoint any of it with any certainty, can’t remotely place the first time it happened, and so, now, I don’t know if any of that was ever real.

"Mia said I should try to work through it on my own, first, but then I should talk to you, and see what you remember.

"You said you remembered Dad hitting me, when I asked you yesterday. So, now, I’m asking…what, exactly, do you remember about it?”

Sam blinked.

“Dean…wow. Um. Wow. Okay. When I said yesterday that I remembered Dad hitting you, I meant like a cuff on the back of the head kind of thing, or during training, teaching you how to fight. Not an abusive, backhanding you or beating you, kind of thing. No. Not even drunk. I mean, I guess it _could have_ happened, but I would have had to have been pretty oblivious not to notice something like that at some point.

"Dad _neglected_ us, he was a _drunk_ , he was hard on you, he put _way_ too much responsibility on you, and he _definitely_ favored me over you, and all of that was wrong.

"But… _beating_ you? No. No, Dean, I don’t…I don’t think that happened.”

***

_** Thursday evening. ** _

_A lot’s happened since I wrote my last entry, yesterday. Hard to believe how much, actually. I feel like I’ve had walls up_ **_forever_ ** _, that are now just crumbling to dust at the merest touch. I talked to Claire and admitted that I had messed up with Cas. I told Jody that I love her. I told Donna that she’s one of my favorite people and makes my life brighter by existing. And I told Sam that I don’t give him enough credit, and that I don’t want to shut him out any more._

**_God_ ** _, how I don’t want to shut people out any more. When did I start believing that I had to be an island? That I had to give and give and give, and could never have anything for me?_

_Claire got it. She said that I push people away, and that I push the hardest on the people I love the most. And then she said, “I get it. I’m the same way._ **_You just need to get that we love you back_ ** _.” When did I_ **_forget_ ** _that? When did I forget that Sam loves me? That Claire, and Jody, and Donna, and Alex, and…Cas…love me?_ **_How_ ** _did I forget that?_

_I told Sam today that I didn’t want to shut him out. That shutting him out was an old, bad habit. That it started out as a method of protecting him from all the bad stuff that I knew was out there, back when he was a little kid, and taking care of him was my job. I never wanted him to know about the monsters. Hell, I never wanted him to know that I went without food, or how worried I was all the time, that Dad might not make it back, that we might run out of money. I wanted him to be able to just be a kid, and to do that, I had to shut him out. But I kept it up_ **_far_ ** _past the time he needed to be protected, and at some point, it stopped being a protection and started being a weapon. I never intended that, and I know it needs to stop._

_I shut Cas out, too. Worse, I blame Cas, and not just silently, I_ **_tell_ ** _him he’s to blame, and I make him_ **_believe_ ** _it. I push and I push and I push, and I’m so tired. With Cas, it’s not about protecting_ **_him_ ** _. It’s about protecting_ **_me_ ** _. From the first moment Cas told me what he was (“I’m an angel of the Lord….”), it has been the_ **_bedrock_ ** _of my belief that…_ **_I don’t deserve to have Cas in my life_ ** _. That I will_ **_never_ ** _be good enough to make up for everything I’ve done,_ **_never_ ** _atone enough to believe that I can have Cas as a permanent part of my family. I can let in Claire, Jody, and Donna; they’re human, they make mistakes. Sam, I know will never leave me entirely; he’s my brother. But_ **_Cas_ ** _? Not remotely the same. Doesn’t matter how many times he falls, doesn’t matter how many mistakes he makes._ **_I will never. Be. Good. Enough._ ** _So I push. Shove. Tell him to go._

_When all I really want is for him to_ **_stay_ ** _._

_When Sam told me last night that Cas had been there, talking with him, I was hurt, at first._ **_Oh, sure, talk to Sam_ ** _. And then I realized my own idiocy. Of_ **_course_ ** _Cas doesn’t want to talk to me._ **_I. Hurt. Him._ ** _On purpose. Because I believed he was going to hurt_ **_me_ ** _, so I forced him to do so. Self-fulfilling prophecy._

_And then I just wanted to cry._

_And that was_ **_before_ ** _Sam told me what Cas told him. Cas actually tried to_ **_help_ ** _, provided useful information. Despite how angry he must be at me, he_ **_still_ ** _tried to help. And what am I supposed to do with_ **_that_ ** _?_

_Sam said that he’d asked Cas if he knew anything about why my memories were so messed up, and Cas told him that every day of the thirty years (in Hell's time) that Alastair had me on the rack, Alastair not only tore me apart, he built me back up. When he did, he added in false memories of Dad’s physical abuse of me, and other things, that made me more and more inclined to take the deal he offered me – that I could get down off the rack and stop his torture of me, if I just agreed to torture others. Which I did, until Cas pulled me out, ten years (again, in Hell’s time) later. Cas tried to fix the accumulated damage, but he only had a few minutes in which to rebuild me, between pulling me out of the pit and resurrecting me. He could only discard memories that were obviously false, because they were incomplete, or details were wrong because Alastair had rushed when creating the fake. Taking away a complete memory where the details seemed right, might have taken away a real memory, which would have done even more damage to me, and Cas couldn’t risk that. He said I have at least two memories of most events, and for some events there might be more._

_And then Sammy said that because it took having a false history of a lifetime of physical abuse implanted in me to make me conducive to agreeing to torture others, and that I would have held out, but for that, that it somehow made me_ **_blameless_ ** _in the choice that I made, because it was a choice that I’d been_ **_conditioned_ ** _by Alastair to make. Sam pointed out that I was 29 when I went to Hell, with 29 years of memories that, at that point, conditioned me to_ **_not_ ** _accept the deal. It took Alastair 30 years of reprogramming me to get me to take it._ **_I was on the rack longer than I had been alive_ ** _, and by the time I did agree to the deal, I was no longer me._

_That was a somewhat comforting notion, I must admit. Until I’d slept on it. This morning, I realized that Sammy’s point basically makes things_ **_worse_ ** _, not better. Assuming Sam’s right, that Alastair reprogrammed me to be a torturer, and Cas couldn’t undo all the damage…. Then I’m_ **_still_ ** _the person who took the deal. I’m_ **_still_ ** _the person who_ **_tortured souls and enjoyed it_ ** _. The Dean who existed before I went to Hell wasn’t to blame, maybe._ **_But I’m not that old Dean_ ** _. I’m the Dean who took the deal. And that Dean, the Dean of Alastair’s creation,_ **_is_ ** _to blame. I told Sam that,_ **_and I still believe it_ ** _._

_Of course, Sam contradicted me, with his lawyer’s logic. He said that the Dean that I am now, the “Dean of Alastair’s creation” as I put it, was still under duress, and you don’t blame someone for doing something under duress that they wouldn’t normally do. Ergo, I wasn’t at fault, Alastair was. Period. I just did what I had to do, what Alastair forced me to do. It wasn’t a choice made of my own free will. It was a choice that even ‘this me’ would not have made, absent Alastair’s coercion._

_But the fact remains. I_ **_did_ ** _take the deal. I_ **_did_ ** _torture others._ **_I did enjoy it._ ** _And that’s still ‘this me,’ as Sam put it. He said himself that_ **_Cas couldn’t fix the damage that was done_ ** _. The Dean that Cas brought back from Hell wasn’t the Dean who went down._

_And then Sam said this: “Well, of course not, Dean. You went through Hell. You were never going to be the ‘Dean who went down.’ I’m just saying, you taking the deal wasn’t really a choice, Dean. You torturing others, that wasn’t a choice. And none of it was your fault. It never was. You don’t choose to be raped, and you don’t blame the victim.”_

_I don’t agree that I’m not to blame. I’m_ **_wholly_ ** _responsible for the choices I’ve made._

_Then, today, we saw Donna, and she was miserable. Her bastard ex-husband, Doug, was being a dick yet again, fat-shaming her, and she was really being down on herself, and I snapped at her for it. And I saw right away the point Sam was going to make about it, how I was being hypocritical to her, and to myself, and hell, to Cas, even. And to an extent, yes, I get where he wants to go with it (although, to be fair, he hasn’t said a damn thing about it – yet). I just don’t believe he’s correct when it comes to me._

_Because I’m_ **_not_ ** _just a victim. Yes, I’m a victim,_ **_too_ ** _. But I’m not_ **_just_ ** _a victim. I_ **_chose_ ** _to be a torturer to have relief from my own torture. Sure, it was under duress; sure, I wasn’t in my right mind._ **_But it was still a choice that I made, that I had no right to make._ **

_Donna didn’t choose to have Doug bring doughnuts and then turn on her for it when she ate one. Okay, she didn’t have to eat one, and_ **_that_ ** _was a choice – but why_ **_shouldn’t_ ** _she make that choice? She’s beautiful, she’s not endangering herself, or anyone else, by eating a damn doughnut. It’s not like she goes out and buys a box of the damn things every morning and eats them on her own. She had_ **_one_ ** _, because Doug brought them in special when he had to come in for the day. She didn’t choose to be abused, she chose to have a treat_ **_that she had every right to have_ ** _._

**_I had no right to torture other souls_ ** _. No matter how much relief it gave me to be off the rack, I had no right to torture others in order to get down off of it._ **_That was not a deal that I had a right to make._ **

_And_ **_that’s_ ** _why it’s an invalid comparison, no matter how much Sammy’s lawyer logic thinks it has it tied up with a big satin bow._

_Sam said I didn’t have to show him what I wrote in my journal, but I think he needs to understand this, so I’m going to_ **_ask_ ** _him to read it._

_And Sam, when you have, please –_ **_don’t argue with me about it._ **

_I am to blame for making the deal._

_I am to blame for breaking the first seal._

_And I’m to blame for blaming you for setting Lucifer free, when in truth, it wouldn’t have mattered that you killed Lilith and broke the last seal, had I not already broken the first._

_That’s right, Sam. I admit it._ **_The whole freakin' Apocalypse was my fault, not yours_ ** _._

_What you said during the Trials?_ **_Sam, you have never let me down_ ** _. Not once._

_I’m the one who’s failed, over and over and over._

_I’ve failed you, I failed Dad, I've failed Cas,_ **_and not once have I ever admitted it._ **

_I’m sorry, Sam._

**_Thank you_ ** _. Thank you for being the one person who always, always, believes in me, and never leaves._

_I’m so tired._

***

_** Friday Morning ** _

_It seems so much is happening so quickly, all of a sudden, but I’m no closer to understanding my own past. I mean, I get what Cas told Sam, and it makes perfect sense. And for once, I’m not even_ **_tempted_ ** _to blame Cas. I know, for a certainty, that he_ **_absolutely_ ** _did the best he could in the time he had, and if he_ **_could_ ** _have done more, he_ **_would_ ** _have. This is so so_ **_not_ ** _on Cas. I’m sure_ **_he_ ** _thinks it is, though, and I’m going to have to remind myself to tell him that it’s not, in a way that makes him believe that I_ **_mean_ ** _it._

**_Dammit_ ** _. That shouldn’t take a special effort. He’s my best friend, my other brother. What does it say about how badly I’ve fucked things up between us, that I have to be careful about how I phrase the way I tell him that something that isn’t his fault, isn’t his fault? Shit. I’m pathetic._

_Sam was right. I blame Cas for_ **_everything_ ** _, make him into my whipping boy, and then wonder why he leaves. I wouldn’t be surprised if Cas_ **_never_ ** _came home. It’s my fault. I push and I push and I push him away. And that’s on me. Completely on me. It’s all my fault._

_I suppose I should accept the consequences of my actions and just admit it –_ **_Cas is better off without me_ ** _. Tell him that for his own sake,_ **_he shouldn’t come back_ ** _, but should go find someone who’ll accept him for who he is, instead of always making him feel like a failure._

_Because Cas_ **_isn’t_ ** _a failure. He’s never failed at_ **_anything_ ** _– except at getting me to believe that I deserve to have him in my life. That I deserve to be saved. Loved. That I deserve to have an Angel of the Lord as my best friend, in my life, as part of my family._

_Because I_ **_don’t_ ** _believe any of that. I never have. And maybe that’s my dad’s influence, or maybe it’s Alastair’s, or maybe it’s just … the truth. I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore._

_All I know is that Cas deserves to be_ **_happy_ ** _, and I’ve never been able to make him happy._

_But then again … I’ve never_ **_tried_ ** _._

_Because really, what’s the point? I’ll_ **_fail_ ** _._

_Because of the two of us …_ **_I’m_ ** _the failure. Not Cas._

***

_** (Continuing on) Friday afternoon ** _

_I wasn’t finished with this entry, but Sam came in, and I needed him to read the last one, so I put this one away._

_As I expected, he didn’t agree with me about my being to blame for taking the deal, and breaking the first seal. But to my utter shock, he_ **_also_ ** _respected my request not to argue with me about it. Of course, I then immediately prodded him into an argument about it._

_But he didn’t argue for long, because what he really wanted to talk about, his take-away from reading the entry, was what I’d said about_ **_Cas_ ** _. He said that I was wrong to believe in Cas’ infallibility, that Cas makes just as many mistakes as he, Jody, or Donna, or anyone else. And that Cas “grieves over them endlessly.” That Cas didn’t leave because I pushed him away – which Claire said, too – but because Cas’ own “feelings of guilt were eating him alive,” and that they would be, even if Cas didn’t think that I blamed him, too. But Cas “does think that, and it kills him, because Cas cares” what I think. Sam actually said that, “out of everyone on the planet,_ **_Cas cares most about what you think of him_ ** _.”_

_That kind of blew me away. I know Cas has said that he and I have “a more profound bond” – but to say that out of everyone,_ **_I matter most to him_ ** _? Why?_ **_Why me_ ** _?_

_I mean, I get why he saved me from Hell – Cas was a warrior, and it was a_ **_mission_ ** _. And I think he regarded it as his mission after that to kind of become my guardian angel. But it wasn’t because I’m anything special. The whole reason Heaven wanted me saved was so I could become Michael’s vessel – but I said no, and Adam said yes, instead, and so Michael and Adam fell into the Cage with Lucifer and Sam, and_ **_it should’ve been me_ ** _. I should’ve gone back to Hell with Sam. But I couldn’t face it._

_And after, I couldn’t face what I’d done, leaving both of my little brothers in the Cage – one in what should have been_ **_my_ ** _place – so I told myself I was honoring Sam’s request, and I went to Lisa and Ben, and let myself believe that I could have them, at least. Wrong again._

_Cas pulled Sam’s body out of the Cage, not realizing he didn’t also retrieve Sam’s soul. For a year, Sam, soulless, hunted without me, without telling me he was alive. He let me play house with Lisa and Ben, let me pretend I had a nice little suburban family life. Smoke and fucking mirrors, that’s all_ **_that_ ** _was._

_And because I “remembered” Dad drilling me over and over about precaution and safety and protection – whether those memories were real, or not, I don’t know, now – I made Lisa and Ben miserable, and the instant Sam let me know he was walking, I deserted them. Eventually, I had Cas erase me from their memories._

_Oy, there’s a parallel. He couldn’t_ **_fix_ ** _my memories, and then I made him_ **_erase_ ** _theirs. No wonder Cas hates me._

_Sam’s just wrong. I can’t possibly matter to Cas as much as Sam thinks._

_But then Sam blew me away even further. He said, “And by the way – you’re welcome. And for the record, Dean, you’ve never failed me. You raised me. You’ve saved my life I don’t know how many times, you literally saved my soul at least a couple of times. You went to Hell for me. You’re my brother, Dean. Of course I believe in you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re my hero.”_

_I can’t even fathom that. I_ **_can’t_ ** _be Sam’s hero. Hell, I can’t be_ **_anyone’s_ ** _hero. I’m a_ **_coward_ ** _._

_I’m a filthy fucking coward, or I would have said yes to Michael in order to save Adam. Failing that, I would have tried to do something to get both Sam and Adam free from the cage – Hell, Adam’s still in it; Death gave me a choice, he could go for only one of them, and I had to choose, and I chose Sam – but no, I left that to Cas to do on his own, didn’t even ask him if he was going to try to save them, much less offer to help, much less_ **_actually_ ** _help._

_And then I blamed Cas for not doing enough when I found out that he’d only retrieved Sam’s body, and Death had to go back for Sam’s soul. By then, so much damage had been done to Sam that Death had to wall it off from Sam’s conscious mind._

_Of course, I blamed Cas for that, too, and pushed him into doing something about it when the wall started to crack, so Cas actually took that damage into himself, willingly, to save Sam from going insane._ **_And that’s me, hurting Cas, again_ ** _._

_Over and over and over again. It’s all I do. I’m a coward, so, I hurt my best friend on purpose, because if I push him away, at least when he leaves, it’s not because he_ **_wants_ ** _to go, it’s because I_ **_made_ ** _him go._

_If I thought he’d left without me doing something to cause it, simply because he_ **_wanted_ ** _to go? I couldn’t take it. It’d kill me._

_But…Sam said today that Cas_ **_didn’t_ ** _leave because of me pushing him away. And Claire said the same…._

**_Fuck_ ** _._

_No. They’re wrong. They have to be wrong._ **_Dammit, THEY HAVE TO BE WRONG!_ **

_Shit. They’re_ **_not_ ** _wrong._

_I’m so confused._

_I’m so tired._

_I’m just so fucking_ **_tired_ ** _. Tired of worrying about whether he’ll stay, or whether he’ll go. About if he’ll run out of grace and be human and die, or if he’ll get his grace back (I guess he told Claire it’s regenerating, so that’s good, at least)._

_I said on Wednesday that I was finding journaling to be liberating. I still kind of think that, but fuck, this is_ **_hard_ ** _. For so long I’ve pushed all this crap down so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. And now…it’s all bubbling up to the surface, like a dinosaur corpse in a tar pit._

_I_ **_cried_ ** _today. I almost_ **_never_ ** _cry. I can probably count on one hand…well, maybe both… the number of times in my life that I’ve let go enough to do that._

_When Sammy said I was his hero, I just couldn’t hold it back. I outright bawled in his arms like a little kid._

_First, I cried in Mia’s office, now in front of Sam. Ugh._

_I guess I needed it. I’ve been pushing things down, viciously, for longer than I can remember. I guess it needs to come out._

_And Sammy took care of_ **_me_ ** _, tucked me in, brought my migraine meds, made sure I got rest. I fucking love that kid._

_Except he’s_ **_not_ ** _a kid, and I need to remember that. I pissed him off today, trying to take care of him like I used to when he was little. He’s not little, and I need to respect that, and him, and not interfere and play big brother caretaker._

_Now if he’d only take care of himself…._

***

_** Saturday morning – early ** _

_Sam’s running again. He says he might be training for another marathon, but I think he’s really just running_ **_away_ ** _. From the dreams he doesn’t share, from his worrying about me, from all the daily stresses that come with this damn job, from…his life._

_I worry about him. It’s been my job my whole life, taking care of him. He’s an adult, and I can’t keep stepping in when he doesn’t want me to, but I still worry. He’s my brother. That doesn’t go away just because he’s grown._

_I hurt Claire yesterday. Fuck, I_ **_hate_ ** _that I hurt her. She wants to give back, to share in her good fortune. I understand the motivation from her perspective. I’m glad she_ **_can’t_ ** _understand mine, I don’t_ **_want_ ** _her to know,_ **_not ever_ ** _, all of what I went through, and why I’ll_ **_never_ ** _deserve what she offers. I know that to keep from hurting her again, I’ll have to accept her gift, and probably have to explain at least a portion of my story, so she knows that I didn’t intend to discount her feelings. I won’t use the money. I’ll leave it alone, in case_ **_she_ ** _needs it someday. But I won’t tell_ **_her_ ** _that. I can’t hurt Claire again._

_I don’t want to hurt_ **_anyone_ ** _again. But I can’t pretend to be someone or something I’m not. Not anymore._ **_I’m broken._ ** _And no one can fix me – or Cas would have, by now. Heaven knows, he’s tried often enough._

_No, I can’t_ **_be_ ** _fixed. And I can’t pretend not to be broken. So, I’m going to have to do the one thing that has always been harder for me to do than anything else:_ **_share my feelings_ ** _. Probably not my whole story, with those who don’t already know it. But I’m going to have to explain to those who mean the most to me why I fuck up all the time, emotionally. Why I get angry. Why I push them away. Why I lash out._

_And that is going to_ **_hurt_ ** _. And I don’t want to hurt. But maybe I_ **_have_ ** _to hurt, to heal. To be whole again. If that’s even possible, I think it has to come from_ **_me_ ** _._

_It might be easier to do it in writing. A letter, instead of a conversation. It certainly can’t be a phone call, not what I have in mind. But letters…letters might work. Even if I didn’t send them, though I probably should, it would let me figure out how to say what needs to be said. I could take my time, choose my words, order my thoughts._

_But I don’t want to send the letters if they’d do more harm than good to those I care about. They deserve an explanation, but they don’t deserve to have more pain inflicted on them. I can’t be that selfish._

_I think I’ll start with journaling as if I’m writing the letters, and show it to Mia, first. If_ **_she_ ** _thinks it’s okay,_ **_maybe_ ** _I’ll send them._

_Maybe. If I don’t chicken out. I'm such a fucking coward._

_\---_

_Dear Sam,_

**_I am so proud of you_ ** _. That is the first and foremost thing that I have to say to you. And being proud of you, means being proud of myself, because I had to have done_ **_something_ ** _right, raising you. If I have done_ **_one thing_ ** _in this life that I can be proud of, it’s_ **_that_ ** _. You are a good man, Sam._ **_Never ever doubt it_ ** _._

_You are the only person I’ve ever truly let in. Because with you, I don’t have to say the words. You just_ **_know_ ** _. You know when I’m lying, and you know when to call me on my bullshit, and when to let it lie. You know all my tells._

_But I can’t tell the lie anymore, Sam._ **_I’m not fine_ ** _. I don’t_ **_remember_ ** _being fine. Every time I’ve ever said that I was fine, or okay, or feeling like anything less than complete shit, yeah,_ **_that was a lie_ ** _. I know you know that, but this is a confession, so I have to_ **_say_ ** _it._ **_I’m not fine_ ** _._

**_I’m broken_ ** _. Not just cracked, or a little worn around the edges._ **_Fractured_ ** _. Split into a million pieces, and hanging on by the slenderest of threads._

_I’m a coward. I can’t face_ **_myself_ ** _, much less you, or Cas, or … well, anyone. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that I rarely look you in the eye anymore. It’s because I’m so afraid of what I’ll see – or what I might not see – there. Would I see the fearful, angry condemnation I feel I deserve? Or the innocent, trusting, pure and shiny love of my brother, that I know that I don’t?_

_Remember during the Trials, in that church, when you told me that you couldn’t stand to watch while I went off and worked with another angel, or another vampire, because you couldn’t be trusted? I told you that I had never, and would never, put anyone else ahead of you,_ **_and that was true_ ** _. If – when – I pushed you away, it wasn’t because of_ **_your_ ** _failings, but because of my own, Sam. I was afraid, and afraid that you would see just how afraid. Even as I bandaged your hand, and tried to soothe your pain, even as my heart was breaking for you, I was terrified._ **_Terrified_ ** _that you would insist on finishing the Trials, that you would die, that you would leave me, and I would be_ **_alone_ ** _. Terrified that, without you, I wouldn’t be_ **_enough_ ** _._

_I told you then that I couldn’t do it without you. That was true, too. But that wasn’t all of it. I was also so afraid that you_ **_wanted_ ** _to die. When I said that if you finished, you would die, and you looked at me blankly, and then said, “So?” – like you couldn’t think of a single reason why that might be a bad thing –_ **_fuck_ ** _, that was the most frightened I’ve ever been, Sam. If I drove you to think that way, to think that you had to be the sacrifice, with my condescension and anger and petty jealousy and outright bigotry against your psychic abilities – if that’s on me, and I have to think it is – then I’m sorrier than I can say. “Sorry” doesn’t begin to cut it._

_Sam, I love you and I’m proud of you, and I’m proud that I helped to shape you into the good man that you are, but you’re a little bit broken, too. And part of your being broken is also due to me. Because I didn’t say the right words often enough, and said the wrong words far too much._

_This is the chick flick moment from hell, but I’ve shoved my emotions down, far too deep, for far too long, and they’re just refusing to stay buried anymore._

_I don’t deserve your love, Sam. But I know that I have it, and I’m_ **_damn_ ** _glad that I do._

_I don’t say in words often enough how much I love you, little brother. But I know you know that I do, because again, between us, it’s never been about the words, and I_ **_have_ ** _tried to show it._

_But this letter is all about the words, so, here they are again:_ **_I love you._ **

_Always._

_Dean_

_***_

_Dear Cas,_

_Fuck, this is hard. I wrote your name, and then stared at the rest of the blank page for a full five minutes, frozen. Shit, I’m no better at saying this in writing than I am out loud. But it has to be said. Dammit._

_** Cas, I love you. ** _

_There. I don’t even know why that’s so hard to say to you, except that it’s the hardest thing I’ll_ **_ever_ ** _say to you. Maybe because you’re_ **_everything_ ** _._

_When you told me you were done, I was expecting it. I’ve been waiting for you to be done with me for years, always, because I don’t deserve you, and never did. I’ve pushed you away at every opportunity. Sam and Claire both told me that you didn’t leave because I pushed you away, but rather because your own guilty conscience was eating you alive, and Sam said that even if I told you that I don’t think you’re to blame for, say, Mom’s death –_ **_and by the way, you’re not_ ** _– you’d nod and be grateful to me for telling you that, but you’d go on feeling just as damned guilty about it, because you blame yourself._

_But Sam also said that you_ **_do_ ** _care what I think. In fact, Sam actually said that, “out of everyone on the planet, Cas cares_ **_most_ ** _about what_ **_you_ ** _think of him.” And that just blew me away. I know you’ve said that you and I have “a more profound bond” – but to say that out of everyone,_ **_I_ ** _matter most to you? Why?_ **_Why me?_ **

_Over and over and over again, I’ve hurt you._ **_You._ ** _My best friend in the world. Lately, it’s all I do. I’m a coward, so, I hurt my best friend on purpose, because if I push you away, at least when you leave, it’s not because you_ **_want_ ** _to go, it’s because I_ **_made_ ** _you go. If I thought you’d left without me doing something to cause it, simply because you_ **_wanted_ ** _to go? I couldn’t take it. It’d kill me._

_But Sam and Claire say that you didn’t leave because I pushed you away. Which means you_ **_did_ ** _want to go._

_And I don’t blame you, Cas. Not one bit. I’ve been horrible to you, and I’m so sorry. Saying that now doesn’t matter a damn, I know, but it has to be said. In fact, I’ll say it again:_ **_I am so damned sorry, Cas._ **

_Just so you know, it’s no easier to say “I’m sorry” to you than it is to tell you “I love you.” Both are fucking true._

_I can’t say that you’re not at fault for everything I’ve ever put on you, because that wouldn’t be true. You_ **_have_ ** _made mistakes. You’re not infallible, and I shouldn’t expect you to be._ **_It’s okay to make mistakes_ ** _. It’s human. And while you’re an angel, you’re a better human being than 99.999% of the human beings on the planet, Cas._

_But the things about which I’ve been the_ ** _most_** _vicious to you, especially recently?_ ** _None of those have been your fault._** _ Mom’s death? That was _**_Jack_** _; he just made a mistake. He acted on instinct, and he couldn’t help it, and_ ** _you weren’t even there._** _ Jack’s death? That was_ **_Chuck_** _, being his evil, vindictive, shitty self. Belphegor’s death? I wasn’t there, but _**_you were_** _, and I should have trusted your judgment that taking him down was the only way. Rowena’s death? Again, _**_you weren’t even there_** _._ ** _Sam_** _did that, and_ ** _she chose to die_** _._

**_Absolutely none of that was on you_ ** _. I should never have tried to_ **_put_ ** _it on you._

_And I should_ **_never_ ** _have let you walk out of the bunker. Ever._ **_That’s your home as much as it is mine and Sam’s_ ** _. You_ **_belong_ ** _there. And watching you walk up the stairs and out the door without so much as a word to try to stop you? That was absolutely the_ **_worst_ ** _thing I’ve done in a while. Ranks right up there with stabbing the book next to your head, and to leaving you behind in Purgatory._

_I accept that my actions have consequences. I_ **_hate_ ** _how much I’ve hurt you, Cas, but I know that I have, and that I have to try to make amends. And I know that I may not be able to. I don’t have the right to ask you to forgive me. I certainly don’t have any expectation that you’ll do so, or return to considering me your friend. I’ve ruined that, and_ **_that’s on me_ ** _._

_But I_ **_do_ ** _wish that you’d come home, Cas. Not for my sake, but for your own, and for Sam. If it were just me, I’d say you were better off on your own. But it isn’t, and you’re not. Sam doesn’t deserve to lose you, and you don’t deserve to lose his friendship, just because_ **_I’m_ ** _fucked up. If you want, I’ll stay out of your way. If you choose not to return, I’ll understand. But whether you return or not, the bunker is your home, your room is your room, your things are your things, and they’ll stay where they are._

_Sam said that Claire told him that you told her that your grace is regenerating. I’m glad, Cas. I’m happy for you. I realize that you read that and probably thought that I said it from some sick expectation that it means that you’ll be able to help us again, but that isn’t it._ **_I don’t expect that_ ** _, and I hate that I ever made you feel that if you couldn’t be of use, that if you lost your grace and became human, then you were worthless._ **_You’re not worthless, Cas. You never could be._ **

_I know you don’t believe in me anymore. That’s fine, I deserve that._

**_But I believe in you_ ** _._

_Always and forever._

_Dean_

***

“Dean? May I ask you something?”

Dean huffed out a tiny laugh. “Of course, Cas. Ask me anything you want to know. I have no dignity left, anyway.”

“Why _do_ you always take everything out on me? Is it because you hate me? Or is it because you know that I won’t lash out at you, I’ll just take it, and go right on loving you, like always?”

Dean whirled around to face Cas. “Cas, I don’t hate you! I could _never_ …. _**Shit**_. I guess that’s how it must seem from your perspective. Yeah, I get it. _Fuck_. I’m sorry for that, too, then.

“To answer your question, Cas, it would be the second option, except….”

“Except…what, Dean?”

“Except for the fact that you don’t love me, Cas. And that’s all right. I don’t expect you to.” Dean stared at the floor.

“Dean, I’ve told you before that I love you. I always have. From the moment I saw your soul shining in the Pit, I’ve loved you.” Cas’ head was tilted to the right, a puzzled expression on his face. “Have you really _never_ believed me?”

“Cas, at the bunker, that night, when you told me you were done, I was expecting it. I’ve been waiting for you to leave, for you to just finally be done with me, _for years_ , because I don’t _deserve_ you. After everything I’ve done, in Hell, on Earth, _to you_ , how could you _possibly_ love me? Care about me? Believe in me?” Dean shrugged, helplessly.

“But I _do_ believe in you, Dean. I always have. I always will. Even when you don’t believe in yourself.

“Dean, do you remember the first time I spoke to you?”

“Yeah, in the barn, I remember.” Dean nodded.

“No, Dean. That was the first time that I was able to speak _with_ you; but I had spoken _to_ you already – in my true form. Remember? My voice shattered the glass at that gas station? And again at the motel?”

“Oh, right. You didn’t have Jimmy as your vessel yet. Yeah, I remember.”

 _“_ I was speaking in Enochian, then; but the English translation is: _‘Hello, Dean. Be ye not afraid. I am the angel Castiel, and I will guard and protect you, now and always, for you are the Righteous Man. I have raised you from Hell, and rebuilt you, piece by piece. I know your soul, and it is beautiful.’_

“Did I really forget to say that to you again, in this form? I guess I did. I’m sorry, Dean. I know I’ve told you other times, though, that I love you.

“But I made a pledge to guard and protect you, and I failed in that. More than once, I left you to your own devices, left you alone, failed to watch over you.

“So, when you get angry with me, I understand it. I’m angry with _myself_.” Cas sighed.

“But Cas, when I get angry with you…. I’m _not_ , really. I’m upset and confused, usually because you’ve gone off and gotten hurt again, and won’t let me take care of you the way I should, and…. _I’m afraid_. That’s the most of it. I lash out at you because I’m a fucking _coward_.”

Dean was trembling, unable to speak above a whisper, as he continued, “Like I said, I’ve been expecting you to leave me behind for a long time. _Everyone_ leaves me eventually, Cas. _Everyone_.

“If I push you away, at least when you leave, it’s not because you _want_ to go, it’s because I _made_ you go. If I thought you’d left without me doing something to cause it, simply because you wanted to go? I couldn’t take it. It’d kill me, Cas.

“But Sam and Claire said that you didn’t leave because I pushed you away. They were trying to make me feel better, but it made it _worse_ , because it meant you _did_ want to go. And knowing that? That’s got my stomach in knots, Cas. It’s killing me. _It’s killing me_.” Dean’s knees gave out and he simply sank to the floor.

Cas stepped over to him and laid a gentle hand on Dean’s head. “Dean, I _didn’t_ want to leave. I got up the stairs, and walked out the door…and vomited in the bushes outside. I didn’t even make it a half mile before I had to pull over, because I couldn’t see through my tears to drive.

“C’mon, Dean.” Cas bent and helped Dean up, and got him over to and in the chair at the desk. Once Dean was seated, Cas knelt in front of him.

“Dean, I didn’t leave because I _wanted_ to go. I left because you were so angry, and I felt that you were being unfair. I felt I needed to stand up for myself, and I also needed clarity. I needed to think about whether killing Belphegor and leaving Jack’s body behind in Hell was, in fact, the only way I could have handled that situation. You said I should have found another way, and I needed to think about whether there maybe could have been another way to go. And after Mary’s death, and Jack’s, I… I didn’t cause them, but I did feel guilty, and I knew that you blamed me, and I felt you were right. I didn’t think you wanted me around anymore, and I couldn’t _stand_ to be where I wasn’t wanted. So I told you I was leaving – and _you didn’t stop me_ , Dean. So I left. And it broke my heart.”

“I’m so sorry, Cas.” Dean kept his eyes closed, but a tear escaped anyway.

“I’m sorry, too, Dean.”

“So, you’ll come home?”

“Dean…. I think that would be premature. I _will_ come back. But Sam told me that you are in therapy, and that it seems to be helping, and I, well, I’m talking with someone, too, and thinking about things.” Cas glanced over at the bed where Sam was sleeping. “Might be a good idea for _Sam_ to get some help, too. Between the three of us, the atmosphere in the bunker is still…toxic. I think our talk today is a good start, but I think there have been a lot of misunderstandings and miscommunications between us, over the years, and I don’t think that everything that’s been broken is fixed yet, do you?”

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Cas – really looked, and saw the sadness, the weariness, writ large. “No, you’re right. I’ve done a lot of damage to you, Cas. Saying ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough. If you came home now, I’d just fall back into the same old patterns, and keep hurting you. I don’t want to hurt you, Cas. I never wanted that.”

“Good to know.” Cas smiled, then, and Dean closed his eyes again.

“Don’t smile at me, Cas. I don’t deserve it.”

“You don’t get to make that decision, Dean. I get to choose when and at whom I smile. You’re not the boss of me.” Cas grinned.

Dean gave a half smile and an abortive chuckle. “Maybe they should’ve called me ‘The _Self_ -Righteous Man.’”

Cas looked horrified for a second, then got the joke and gave a full-blown belly laugh. After a moment, Dean joined in. They both laughed until their sides ached from it.

“Shit, that wasn’t even all that funny. I guess we needed that.” Dean grinned.

Cas wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Felt good.”

Dean nodded. “It did. I missed that. Missed _you_ , Cas.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Dean.”

“Hey, as part of my therapy, I’m keeping a journal. It’s helping. And I was writing in it earlier, and decided to write letters to people, like you, and Sam, as part of it. Part of what I wrote to you, I said today, but I think you should see all of it. Thing is, I want to run it past Mia, my therapist, first. Get her okay on it. And I don’t want to send you anything that would hurt you. If it helps me to write it, but hurts you to read it, then it doesn’t really help me, because hurting you isn’t my intention. But…if Mia says it’s okay to send it to you…would you read it, Cas?”

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thanks, man.”

“Dean…would you say that we were… I mean, do you consider us _friends_?”

“Well, Cas, there are two answers to that. The first is _no_ , because you and I, we’re not _just_ friends, Cas, we’re _**family**_. You’re my other brother, Cas. The second is still _no_ – because you’re not _just_ my friend, you’re my _best friend_ , Cas. You’re _special_. To say just that ‘I consider us friends’ would be to unfairly discount what I feel for you. You’ve _never_ been ‘just’ a friend.

“So, now let me ask you, Cas. Do _you_ consider us friends?” Dean smiled.

“Dean, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. The best friend I never expected to have. I lived for eons, and I had family, brothers and sisters, but I never had a friend, much less a best friend. And now I have you, and Sam, and Claire, and Jody, and Donna, and Alex, and … the person I’ve been speaking with since I left the bunker, I think she’s a friend, now, too. But you, you’re right, Dean, you mean more to me than the others do. Nothing against them, of course, it’s just that what you and I have is… _more_.”

Dean nodded. “I don’t want to fuck that up again, Cas.”

“Nor do I, Dean. As I said, when I left the bunker that night – thinking that it was over between us, that made me physically ill. And that’s why I can’t come back yet. I’m still fragile, Dean. And I think you are, too. And I don’t know about you, but I can’t keep stepping carefully, hoping to avoid the land mines, and fearing I’ll miss.”

“Yeah. I get it, Cas.”

“Dean. I’m glad we talked today. I’m feeling much better about, well, _everything_. It’s good to know that you don’t hate me. It’s good to know that _you_ know that I don’t hate you.”

“Yeah. Hey, we’ll probably be heading back to Sioux Falls tomorrow, turns out there’s a connection there to the case we were on here. So, I told Jody we’d probably be there for dinner. I know you just saw Claire yesterday, and I know you don’t eat, but….”

“I’ll be there, Dean. It’s family.”

***

It was early November, but it was still fairly warm, so Dean had his window down. The radio was set to the classic rock station, and Dean was keeping time with his thumbs on the steering wheel.

“You’re in a good mood,” Sam observed.

“You know, Sam, I am. We’ve basically figured out this case. We inherited the salvage yard. Claire is insisting on handing us cash. I apologized to Cas. We’ll be having dinner with people we love, who love us back. Where’s the down side? Because I’m not seeing it.”

“Way to bury the lede, there, Dean. You apologized to Cas?” Sam grinned.

“Yeah. We talked. We both agree that we still have things to work through, and it’s too soon for him to come home. But it was a really good talk.” Dean flushed a little and kept his eyes on the road.

“Good. I’m proud of you, Dean.” Sam left it at that.

“Wow, Sam, that’s it? No needling? No ‘ewww’?”

“Nope. That’s it.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but… _why?_ ”

“Because, Dean, I can tell when you’re making an effort, on something’s that’s really important. I’m not about to make fun of you about something that I know is really sensitive. Other things, yes. But not about _this_.” Sam stared out the passenger window at the scenery going past.

“I wrote you a letter, Sam.”

“You did?”

“As part of my journaling. Mia didn’t suggest it, but I thought it would be a good idea to explain things to the people I care about. So I wrote one to _you_ , and one to _Cas_ , so far. I want Mia to read them, first, to make sure that I’m not doing more harm than good if I ask people to read them. But if she says it’s okay…would you read it?”

“Of course, Dean. Should I respond?”

“If you want to.”

“Okay.”

***

“Dean – coffee? Or beer?” Jody offered.

“Um… I’ll take a glass of water, if you don’t mind, Jodes,” Dean replied.

Jody got down a glass and turned on the faucet, but her brow was quirked.

_Dean turning down caffeine_ **_and_ ** _alcohol?_

She handed him the glass. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” he said, absently.

Claire got herself a cup of coffee and doctored it. Jody got herself a beer and sat down to Dean’s right. Claire came and sat across from Dean, to Jody’s right, and they rolled to see who would go first (Claire, playing Miss Scarlet (red)), second (Dean, playing Colonel Mustard (yellow)), and third (Jody, playing Mrs. Peacock (blue)).

Claire rolled snake eyes, and moved two squares; her turn ended. She looked through her cards and made notes.

Dean rolled a twelve, and moved into the Hall.

“Oh, sure, you get to go into a room on your first turn!” Claire pouted.

“Roll better,” Dean suggested, winking. “I think it was Miss Scarlet, in the Hall, with the knife.”

Claire groaned and moved her piece to the Hall, then showed Dean a card, without showing Jody.

“Ah, good to know, good to know.” Dean made a note.

Jody rolled a three and moved three squares; her turn ended. She took a swig of her beer, and set it down next to Dean’s glass. Dean took a drink of water, and moved the glass to his left, so it was away from the beer.

Clair rolled a four, and moved out of the Hall and three more squares; her turn ended.

Dean rolled snake eyes. He moved out of the Hall, and then right back in. “I think it was Miss Scarlet, in the Hall, with the candlestick.”

Claire shot him a dark look, moved her piece back into the Hall, and showed him another card.

“Hmmm, verrry interesting,” he said, making a note.

Jody rolled a four. She moved four squares, and her turn ended. She took another drink.

Dean noticed a drop of condensation rolling down the neck of the bottle, and licked his lips. He took another drink of water, and discovered that he’d finished the glass.

“Sure I can’t interest you in a beer, Dean?” Jody asked.

“Um… Oh, sure, why not. I’m not driving.” Jody got him a bottle from the fridge and handed it to him. He took a swig, and swallowed hard. He closed his eyes, and savored the taste.

***

“It was Professor Plum, in the conservatory, with the lead pipe!” Dean said, winning the third game.

In the time it had taken them to play three games, Dean had drunk seven bottles of beer to Jody’s three.

“At least I won the second game,” Claire groused. “I think you cheated, D. You won the first and the third games without breaking a sweat.” She started packing up the game pieces.

“I’m heading to bed, guys. Dean, see you in the mornin’,” Jody said, as she left the kitchen.

“I din’t cheat. Don’ gotta. I’m jus’ that good, Claire-Bear.” Dean winked at her.

“C’mon, Claire, one more game. You need to even the score, doncha?” Dean looked at her hopefully, in an approximation of Sam’s puppy-dog look.

“You don’t do that look nearly as well as Sam, D. And no, it’s getting late. I need to go to bed.” Claire smiled fondly at him, then carried her mug to the sink.

Suddenly, he was behind her, his hands on her arms. “I’m all in favor of going to bed.”

“Ew, _gross_. Don’t even _joke_ , Dean.” She pushed him back, and he went, his hands raised.

“Okay, okay. Fine.” He opened the refrigerator and got another beer. Claire took it from him.

“I don’t think you need any more to drink tonight, Dean.”

“What are you, my mom?” He took it back, and took a long pull.

“Oh, no, that can’t be right. My mom’s _dead_. Again.” He took another good-sized nip.

“Dean? Are you okay?” Claire peered up at him.

“Nah, but I’m gettin’ there. I’m gettin’ there.” He took another long pull, and finished the bottle.

He moved toward the fridge, but Claire got in front of it. “How about some coffee, D?”

“Nah, don’ wan’ caffeine. But I’m thirsty, Claire. C’mon, baby, move out the way for me,” Dean took a step forward and stumbled.

Claire caught him, and he pulled her into a hug, laughing a little.

“You’ve had enough, Dean. C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Nah, I told you, I’m thirsty.” He danced for a moment, turning Claire, then, when she was away from the refrigerator, whirled and opened it, getting out yet another beer.

He popped it open, and chugged the whole thing. “See? Tole ya I was thirsty.” He grinned at Claire.

“Okay, but now, let’s get you upstairs, Dean.”

“C’mon, Claire, let’s do somethin’ _fun_. Wanna watch a movie?”

“No, D, I need to get to sleep, and so do you.”

“You’re no fun, Claire. Why don’ you wanna have _fun_? Don’ girls jus’ wanna have fun? Isn’t that the song?”

“Yes, D, that’s the song, but I’m tired now, and so are you. C’mon, now.”

“’m not tired. I’m _thirsty_ , Claire.”

“No, Dean.”

“Yes, Claire.” He glared at her, suddenly menacing, and for the first time ever, Claire found herself just a little bit afraid of Dean Winchester.

“D? C’mon, it’s time for bed. Please.”

“Already tol’ ya I was all _for_ that, Claire-Bear.” He moved over and hugged her, and suddenly her back was against the wall.

“For sleep, Dean.” She pushed him back, and he went.

“Claire, there’s much better things we could do than sleep.” He smiled softly, and moved back toward her.

“Dean, stop. You’re like my big brother. This is…wrong.” She pushed him back, a little harder. A tear slid down her cheek.

“’snot. I’m not your brother, Claire. We’re not at _all_ related, baby.” He leaned in and nuzzled her neck, and she squirmed away.

“Dean, stop. Just…stop.” She pushed him again, and he fell back a step.

And then she heard that soft “whoosh” again, and Cas was there.

“I’ll handle Dean, Claire. Why don’t you go wait in Jody’s office?” Cas suggested.

Claire went, _fast_.

Cas got Dean into a chair, and touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead briefly.

Dean looked up at him, and saw at least three angels, but felt his head clearing.

“Dean, what were you _thinking_?” Cas demanded.

“I wasn’t. _Ugh_.” Dean’s head was still swimming.

He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. He knew Cas had removed the alcohol from his system, but he still felt drunk. He vaguely remembered a line from the book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – _“‘and what’s so bad about being drunk?’ ‘just you ask a glass of water.’”_ He felt like the water.

He hunched over, head in his hands, elbows braced on his thighs. He ran his hands back through his hair, and shook his head, trying to clear it.

“ _You upset Claire_. What did you _say_ to her?” Cas asked, and suddenly Dean realized – Cas wasn’t so much _concerned_ for him, as _angry_ with him.

“I… oh. Shit,” he said, as it came back to him. The beginnings of panic started in his stomach.

 _“What. Did. You._ ** _Say_** _?”_ Cas’ voice was low, but vicious in its intensity.

“Um…she said it was getting late, that it was time for bed. And I said I was all in favor of that.”

Cas looked puzzled. “Why would _that_ upset Claire?”

“I might have been … um … kind of…. I was standing close behind her, rubbing her upper arms, when I said it. The first time.” Dean flushed, and he dropped his eyes.

“There was _more than one time_ that you said that?” Cas growled.

“Um…yes.”

“What were you doing the _second_ time?”

“Hugging her.”

“Was there a _third_ time?”

“No. But…I said some other …inappropriate things. Things I should never have said to Claire.” Dean bit his lip and swallowed hard.

“I see. _You_ will stay here. I will be right back.” Cas went to speak with Claire. He returned a few minutes later.

“Dean, Claire told me what happened. She said it didn’t go very far, and she’s okay, but you scared her because you’d been drinking and didn’t seem able to control yourself. How much did you drink?” Cas asked. He still sounded angry, but his tone was slightly different. Dean couldn’t quite identify the change.

Dean tried to remember. “Eight? No, nine. Nine bottles of beer. Doesn’t excuse what I did.”

“No, it doesn’t. You _will_ apologize to Claire.”

“Of course. I want to. I need to. Right now, if she’s willing to talk to me.”

Cas left the room. A moment later, Claire came in. Dean stood and faced her, his head low.

“Claire, I… I have no excuse. I am so sorry. I don’t know what got into me, to say such things to you.”

“I believe it was _beer_ , Dean.” Cas’ voice came from the living room, and Claire snorted a laugh.

“There’s that, but the beer doesn’t excuse my actions. I really am so, so sorry,” Dean trembled on his feet.

“D, it was icky, not gonna lie. And a little scary, because I knew you were drunk, and you are a lot bigger’n me. But I know you didn’t mean it. You don’t see me that way; to you, I’m just a kid.” Claire had been looking at the floor, but suddenly looked Dean straight in the eyes. “Except… _earlier_. When you first got here. You said I ‘really was all grown up.’ Is that what you _meant_?”

“ _No!_ I meant that what you said made you sound very mature, just like I said. I wasn’t thinking anything else, then, I swear…. But… well, you _are_ all grown up, now, Claire. You’re _not_ a kid, you haven’t been for a really long time. And maybe my having finally noticed that fact is what prompted my drunk brain to act around you the way I did. I don’t know. I just know that I shouldn’t have said what I said, and should never have treated you that way, and I’m sorry for it.”

“Dean, if I wasn’t _me_ , if I was just some random chick in a bar who caught your eye…. Is that how you would have acted?” Claire asked.

Dean snorted. “I’ve done and said worse, drunk. I’m not proud of _that_ , either.”

Claire nodded. “Good. You shouldn’t be.”

“I’ve been trying to quit drinking. I don’t know why I drank tonight. Bad habits die hard, I guess. And I have a lot of them. And one of them is hurting the people I care about.”

“You said earlier that you’re in therapy. Are you going to tell the therapist about _this_?”

“Yes. I should. It’s self-destructive behavior that harms others. Exactly what I’m seeing her for.”

Claire took his hand. “Okay. Can I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t just tell her about _me_. Tell her about the random chicks in bars, too. Tell her about the drinking. Get _help_ , D. Please? I need to know that I can trust my big brother, not just with myself, but to make good decisions in general. And it sounds like maybe you haven’t been for a long time. I get why, you’ve been though a ton of shit that no one should have to go through, but….”

“But my having gone through shit doesn’t give me the right to put _everyone else_ through shit, too. No, I get it, you’re right, Claire. Thanks.”

“I’m okay, Dean. I didn’t like it, but I’m okay. _But you’re not_. And now I’m gonna _worry_ about that. So you keep in mind that _my worry_ is one more thing you have to think about when you make a decision about whether to drink or not, or whether to pick up some random chick and say skeevy things to her. And maybe my worry will tip the balance in the right direction.”

“You’re amazing, Claire. I don’t des….”

“ _Stop right there_. I don’t want to hear about how you don’t deserve my concern, or my love, or to be my big brother. _Not. One. Word._ You don’t get out of being family that easily, Dean Winchester. You hear me?” Claire poked his arm, hard.

“ _Ow._ Yes. Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m going to sleep, now. You should soon, once Cas is done with you. Good night, D.”

“Night, Claire.” Claire left the kitchen, and Cas came back in.

Dean looked at Cas’ face, and knew he wasn’t off the hook, and was glad for it. But then, Dean had a sudden horrible thought. “Cas, are you _sure_ Sam really cured me of being a demon? Because I honestly felt like that, again, tonight.” Dean’s fear and shame at the thought of what he’d done and what he might still be, were apparent.

Cas studied Dean’s eyes and touched his forehead briefly again.

“You’re not a demon, Dean. But when you were a demon, it created pathways in your brain to thinking about doing and saying things that a demon would say, and those are still there. You will have to actively resist the temptation to act as you did then, and drinking reduces your ability to do that.

“When was your last drink, before tonight?”

“The night you left the bunker.”

“And how much did you have then?”

“Um… Sam said he’d found an empty decanter and three empty bottles in the War Room, and another empty bottle in my bedroom.”

“Beer?”

“Whisky.”

“You drank almost _five bottles of whisky_? And then went _cold turkey_? And not quite three weeks later, you drank nine bottles of beer?” Cas’ anger was all the more powerful for being extremely controlled. He wasn’t even raising his voice, but Dean knew exactly how far across the line he’d gone.

“Dean, I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want straight answers. Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?”

“No.” Dean almost whispered it.

“You’re aware that you’re an alcoholic, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Has your therapy even _touched_ on that fact?” Cas asked.

“No.”

“Have you even _told_ your therapist about your drinking, yet?”

“No.”

Cas reached out and lightly cupped Dean’s jaw. Dean opened his eyes, surprised by the gentle touch.

“Dean, I wasn’t there to take care of you. My powers were _failing_. You could have _died_. Did you seriously think you could just magically stop drinking, without any support, and that you wouldn’t relapse? Do you realize you could have died from alcohol poisoning from drinking five bottles of whisky, or that you could have died from withdrawal by just stopping like that? Dean, do you really care this _little_ for yourself? For the people who care about you?”

“Sam said I had to stop drinking. I…well, I agreed with him. So I stopped. I’ve only wanted a drink once since that night, and I went for a drive, instead. I don’t know why I drank tonight. And I really don’t know why I acted that way with Claire. Cas, are you absolutely sure I’m cured, that I’m not a demon?”

“No, you’re no longer a demon, Dean. But you _have_ demons. And you need to face them, and you need help to do that. How close are you to wrapping up this case?”

“We may be able to finish it tomorrow. Maybe.”

“And when is your next therapy appointment?”

“Tuesday afternoon.”

“So, you were going to just skip it, if you couldn’t wrap the case in time? Dean, you can’t do that. Put it off once, it’ll become a habit. Alastair scrambled your memories. You have bad habits you’ve picked up over the years. You regularly engage in self-destructive behavior that harms, or has the potential to harm, others. Therapy has to be _the_ priority. Not just ‘a’ priority.”

Dean nodded. “I know.”

“Do you? Have you written in your journal at all today?”

“Um… no. I was going to do that tonight, but….”

“But you got drunk, instead. _Do you have any inkling at all_ of how _**furious**_ with you I am right now?”

“Yes,” Dean whispered, staring at the floor.

“But I bet you haven’t got one clue in your head as to the _reason_.”

Dean looked up. “Of course I do! I was _stupid!_ You had to spend your grace and your time coming back here and removing the alcohol from my system, and dealing with Claire’s upset and my stupidity, and….”

Dean trailed off when he noticed the expression on Cas’ face.

“No. Well, the stupidity upsets me, too, of course; but no.

“My _time_? My _grace_? I don’t care about that, _at all_. How many times do I have to tell you, _show you_ , that? How many times have I healed you, or Sam, when my grace was failing? How much time have I spent in the back seat of your car, riding with you when I could have simply flown? No, Dean.

“I’m angry with you because, _once again_ , you’ve shown how little you care about yourself, Dean. You’ve been doing well, you were taking therapy seriously, you weren’t drinking, and then a case gets busy and you simply revert right back to your same old patterns of behavior, even though you know how bad they are for you. You drank, you ignored your therapy work, and then you acted inappropriately with Claire. _**With Claire!**_

“But the fact that the pattern included Claire this time only amplifies my anger. You’re just damned lucky I have Claire on my radar, so to speak. Or is that why you chose to ‘be stupid’ with _her_? Because you knew I could stop you in time? _Just one more way to hurt me_ , is that it, Dean?” Cas’ voice was low and venomous in its intensity.

“N-no. Cas, I-I wasn’t thinking like that. I wasn’t thinking _at all._ It wasn’t about you, I swear.” Dean was sweating.

“Do you think I _like_ watching you, as you kill yourself slowly with alcohol?”

“No.” Dean swallowed hard.

“Do you think I’ve _enjoyed_ watching you, over the years, as you picked up the, as Claire put it, ‘random chicks’ in bars, Dean?”

“No,” Dean whispered.

“You said something yesterday, Dean. That how when you get angry with me, you’re not really angry, _per se_ , you’re upset and confused, and it’s usually because I’ve gotten hurt and won’t let you care for me the way you should. Do you remember saying that, Dean?” The anger and pain in Cas’ voice was fiercely brutal.

“Yes.” Dean was shaking.

“ _ **Sound familiar?**_ I’m angry because you’re _**hurting**_. Claire was upset, but she’ll be fine. _But you’re_ ** _not_** _, Dean_. You’re _not_ fine. And you won’t let me care for you the way I should. And really, there’s not much more I can do. You have to _want_ to change, Dean. You have to want it so badly that the comforting feeling that alcohol gives you isn’t worth it. You have to want it so badly that you make making therapy work for you _the single most important thing in your life_. And you don’t want it, Dean. And I don’t know what to do about that. Because I can’t _make_ you want it. I can point out that alcohol is killing you. I can clear it out of your system and help you realize the latest idiotic thing you’ve done under its influence. But I can’t make you _want_ to change anything. And that’s _killing_ me, Dean.” Cas’ voice broke at the end.

“ _Why?_ Why do you even _care_ , Cas? After everything I’ve done, all the times and ways I’ve hurt you? Why does my _pain_ anger you?”

“ _Because I love you_ , you idiot. And when you love someone with all your heart, _their_ pain is _your_ pain. And when their pain is _self-inflicted_ , it’s like they’re stabbing your heart. You’re stabbing my _heart_ , Dean. With every drink, with every pick-up, with every time you go out on a hunt not caring if you live or die, with every self-destructive thing you do, you’re stabbing my _heart_.

“I told you that I’m still fragile. Apparently, I’m fragile enough to tell you how I feel. _I love you._ **_I’m in love with you_** _, and you’re_ ** _killing_** _me_.”

Cas sat down, suddenly exhausted and feeling frail.

Dean stood very still for a long moment, then knelt in front of Cas, and looked up, slowly.

“Cas, I… I _do_ want to change. I don’t want to hurt you, or anyone. I know you’re right. About all of it. I _don’t_ want to die. I don’t want to have to keep apologizing, I don’t want to be stupid, and _I don’t want to lose you_. I don’t understand _why_ you love me, but I’m glad you do. Because I love you, too. I know I have work to do, and I’m gonna do it, Cas. I won’t make a promise you can’t trust. I can’t say I won’t backslide again, because honestly, I probably will. _I’m broken_. I’m a fuck up. But I’m going to do the work. Because I want and need to be better, for _me_. Because I want and need to be better, for _you_. Because I don’t want to stab your heart anymore, Cas. Your heart is too important to me for that.”

_“Why?”_

“ _Because_ _I’m in love with you, too._ ”

“Okay.”

Dean put his head on Cas’ lap, and Cas stroked his hair gently for a moment.

“You should go to sleep, Dean.”

Dean nodded and got back to his feet. Cas stood as well, and gave him a short hug. Cas vanished.

Dean went upstairs, and to bed.

***

About halfway through the meal, Sam remembered that Dean had asked to talk.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” he prodded.

Dean sighed. “I screwed up last night, Sam.”

“Last night? What’d you do?”

“Jody offered me a beer. I turned it down the first time, asked for a glass of water. But I finished that off, and she offered again, and….”

“And you took it.”

“And I took it. And eight more. Two of those after Jody’d gone to bed, and it was just me and Claire in the kitchen. And I said some things I shouldn’t have said, got too close, got pushy. I upset Claire, enough to register on Cas’ radar, so he came back. Claire told him that she was okay, and she insisted to me, last night and this morning, that she really _was_. But Cas still gave me hell, partly because it was Claire, but mostly because….”

“Because he loves you, and can’t stand to see you hurting.”

“What, is the guy wearing a neon sign?” Dean was a little exasperated. Apparently, _everyone_ knew how Cas felt. Which just made him feel like an even bigger heel, for not earlier having fully realized himself just how much the angel meant to him, and vice versa.

Sam hid his smile behind his sandwich.

“Anyway, I apologized to Claire, and to Jody, and I told Jody that I just can’t be trusted around alcohol. And I wanted to tell you, too, and ask you to do me a favor.”

“Clear the bunker of alcohol? Dean, if you hadn’t noticed, I already _did_ that, the day after Cas left. I have a beer now and then, but not enough to care about not stocking it. If I want one, I can go out,” Sam told him.

“Okay. I- I haven’t brought the drinking up with Mia yet. I’m going to, tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Why isn’t anyone but Cas mad at me?”

“Because we love you, and you’ve been making an honest effort, Dean. I’ve watched you, I’ve seen how seriously you’ve been taking your journaling. I don’t think you’d had a single drink since that night, had you?”

“No. Cas got pissed about _that_ , too; said I could’ve died of _withdrawal_ , if the five bottles of whisky didn’t do it.”

“He’s right.” Sam finished his sandwich, and slumped back in his chair.

“Yeah. And that reminds me, Sam. I owe you an apology, have for a long time.”

“For what?” Sam was mystified.

“When you were on the demon blood. Instead of weaning you off, like Bobby suggested, I insisted on making you go cold turkey; locked you in the panic room with your hallucinations, and left you here with Bobby to stand guard. It was a shit thing to do, and it could have killed you. And I didn’t get it, Sam. I didn’t get what that was like for you.

“I still don’t, not fully. But when Jody offered that beer, and I could see the condensation on the bottle she was drinking from…the thirst was overwhelming, and even though I would have been fine – better off – with water, I just crumpled like the Daniels’ car. Couldn’t think of saying no. So, I’m sorry that I didn’t – _don’t_ – get it, and I’m sorry I was such a horrible jerk to you.”

Sam smiled softly but played with one of the potato chips that was uneaten on his plate, rather than look at Dean.

“Hey, D? Are you gonna go back and apologize for every shit thing you’ve ever done to me? ‘Cause I can make you a list, if you want….”

Dean laughed, but he still reached across the table and slugged Sam’s shoulder. “Bitch.”

“Ow! Jerk,” Sam snorted a laugh.

***

_** Monday evening ** _

_So much has happened in the last couple of days, I haven’t had time to write until now. No time to process, to think, even. I wrote my last entry on Saturday morning, with the letter to Sam and the letter to Cas, and now I don’t even know if those are relevant at all._

_I couldn’t sit around on my ass and just think about everything that’s wrong with me, so I made Sam find us a case. It was supposed to be a simple ‘salt-n-burn’ haunting case, but it got insanely complicated. I won’t go too far in describing it, but it turned out to be a ‘cursed object’ haunting, instead, and the object was a car. Turns out, the car was purchased by Bobby, my…well, for all intents and purposes, my second father. And it was still in the salvage yard that Bobby had owned – and left to me and to Sam. In fact, we were his only heirs, and the appraised value of what he left us is just over_ **_$7M_ ** _. And really, the only reason we even found out about it was that we took this case._

_I’m worried about Sammy. Turns out he_ **_wasn’t_ ** _trying to run away from his life, he was trying to keep himself on the edge of exhaustion, or to keep himself awake, one or the other, so he wouldn’t_ **_dream_ ** _. He’s been having the nightmare again, the one where he’s back in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer torturing him. Cas suggested it might not hurt for Sam to get therapy, too, and he’s not wrong. Cas said tonight that he thinks he might have an answer, but he needs to do a little research. For the moment, Cas has turned off Sam’s ability to have a REM cycle, so he literally can’t dream. It’s not optimal, but at least Sam can rest. He slept nearly four hours in the car this evening, and he was starving when he woke up. Our dad used to say, “food is sleep, and sleep is food,” and I can only hope this will turn out to be one of the things about which Dad was correct._

_Also on the subject of Sammy – he’s been_ **_incredibly_ ** _supportive. He says it’s because he knows I’m taking therapy seriously and making an effort, but damn if he isn’t going the extra mile. Usually, we both mock each other pretty mercilessly – habits of a lifetime of being brothers living in close quarters – but a few times now, he’s had plenty of opening, and simply refused to take it. He said he knows that I’m working through things,_ **_important_ ** _things, and he’s not going to make fun of that. A couple of times now, I’ve had a kind of breakdown, and he’s been careful and kind and reassuring. I know that in my letter to him, I already said that I was proud of him, and damn,_ **_I am_ ** _. If there is one thing on this Earth that makes me accept that I deserve good things, it is the fact that I raised Sam, and he turned out so damn good._ **_I did something right, dammit_ ** _._

_I managed to hurt Claire again. Okay, maybe not hurt, but definitely_ **_upset_ ** _. She says she’s okay, and Cas believes her, so I do, too. I was drunk._ **_I am an alcoholic, and I got drunk_ ** _, and I said inappropriate things and got overbearing and a little handsy with a young woman who considers herself my little sister. She’s half my age (and Cas’ late vessel’s daughter, which makes her unrelated to Cas, but he tries), and I’ve always considered her to be like my sister, so I have no idea where what I said to her came from._

_Claire asked me, if she wasn’t_ **_her_ ** _, if she had been just some random chick in a bar that I was trying to pick up, would I have acted the same way, said the same things? And I had to admit that, drunk, I’ve done and said worse. Way worse. She insisted that I mention that fact to Mia, and she’s right. Not just about the drinking, but the general self-destructive behavior with the potential to harm others, and how drinking makes that behavior worse, and, unfortunately, almost inevitable._

_Claire was upset enough that Cas could feel it, and he came to deal with me. Cas cleared the alcohol from my system, and as soon as he did, I was disgusted with my own behavior. He gave me hell anyway, deservedly so._

_But the primary thing he gave me hell for was my failure to have raised my drinking problem in therapy. And he’s right._ **_I haven’t mentioned it, and I don’t know why_ ** _. It should have been one of the_ **_first_ ** _things I said in my very first session with Mia._

_Cas also said that when I was a demon, it created pathways in my brain to thinking the way a demon would, and doing the things a demon would do, and those pathways are still there. He said that I will likely always have to actively resist the temptation to act in those ways, and that drinking reduces my ability to do that. I should mention that to Mia, too._

_And then he told me that the real reason he was so furious with me was because I was in pain, and had caused my pain myself, and he’s in love with me and I won’t let him help and didn’t seem to want to change. And hoo boy, does that sentence need to be unpacked._

_ So, part one _ _:_ **_Cas is in love with me_ ** _. Not just that he loves me, as family._ **_In love. With me. ME._ ** _And when he said it, I knew that I had to change, had to be better, had to do the work, had to make therapy work, because_ **_I DO want to change_ ** _. I want to be better,_ **_for me_ ** _. I want to be better,_ **_for him_ ** _. Whether I “deserve” it, or not, Cas’ love is a_ **_gift_ ** _, and I’m not throwing it back in his face._ **_Because I’m in love with him, too. And I finally admitted it, to myself, and to him._ **

_**I am in love with an Angel of the Lord. And he is in love with me. And it is fucking glorious.** _

_And having it out in the open, at last, between us makes everything at once more difficult, and so damned easy, and_ **_I am so afraid of fucking it up_ ** _, and oh, I do_ **_not_ ** _want to fuck up_ **_us_ ** _. It took us eleven years to say the words the first time. I want to be able to say them_ **_forever_ ** _._

_I told him some of the things that I wrote in my letter, and then I told him that there_ **_is_ ** _a letter. I said I wanted Mia to read it, first, because if it helps me to write it, but hurts him to read it, then it doesn’t really help me, at all. I’m not that selfish, and I don’t want to hurt Cas. Not again. Not_ **_ever_ ** _again. I know that the chances are high that I_ **_will_ ** _hurt him again, because I’m a mess, but I don’t_ **_want_ ** _to hurt him. But I asked him if, if Mia says it’s okay for me to give it to him, he would read it, and he said that he would._

_ Part two _ _: I_ **_do_ ** _want to change, and it’s not that I don’t_ **_want_ ** _Cas’ help. It’s just that he’s right –_ **_the change has to come from me_ ** _. He can’t make me want it, I have to want it for_ **_myself_ ** _. And now, I do. And I’m afraid I’ll fuck that up, too, and that fucking that up will fuck up us._

**_So, I hereby resolve_ ** _:_

  * _to try to be better about_ ** _accepting help_** _, particularly from Cas._
  * _to try to be better about_ ** _admitting when I need help_** _, particularly from Cas._
  * _to try to be better about_ ** _letting Cas know that I need him_** _, not just for his help, but in general._
  * _to try to be better about_ ** _telling Cas that I love him, how much I love him_** _._



_No, wait, that last one’s not a “try”. I resolve to_ **_be_ ** _better._

_Because I_ **_have_ ** _to be better about that. I have to tell him more often._

_Preferably daily. In many, varied, interesting and exciting ways._

**_I am in love with Cas. Cas is in love with me._ ** _That is wondrous and wonderful and so, so damn scary._

_I told Cas that I wished that he’d come home. He agreed that the bunker_ **_is_ ** _his home, and said that he_ **_will_ ** _come back, but not yet. He said that when he left the bunker that night, thinking that it was over between us, that made him physically ill, he actually vomited in the bushes outside the front door, and that he’s still fragile, and so am I. And he said that we “can’t keep stepping carefully, hoping to avoid the land mines, and fearing we’ll miss.” And he’s_ **_right_ ** _. If he came home now, there’s too great a chance that I’ll backslide into bad habits, the patterns I’ve built up, and I’ll hurt him again, and_ **_I do not want to do that_ ** _. He’s got a cabin out in the woods that he rented, apparently, and he’ll stay there for now, but he’ll be available if we need him. We can call, and he’ll come._

_Anyway, long story short (too late!), we resolved a lot, and we both feel better for it. And we’re going to make it, because I won’t accept less. Not anymore._

**_I am in love with Cas, and Cas is in love with me_ ** _. And that's_ **_everything_ ** _._

_***_


	3. Third Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just the session with Mia. The "homework" of therapeutic writing that followed the session will be in one or more subsequent chapter(s). ;)

“Hello, Dean. Come in, please,” Mia stepped back to allow Dean to enter her office. He stepped in, and offered her his journal. She took it, saying, “Please, have a seat.”

Dean sat down on the couch.

“So, Dean, how did your homework go this past week?” Mia asked.

“Well, it went a little weirdly, actually. This was a really long week. I wrote about most of it.” Dean gestured to the notebook.

“Perhaps I should read what you wrote, then. Is that all right, Dean?”

“Yeah. And if you have questions, I can explain things.”

Mia nodded. She opened the notebook, and passed quickly through the pages from his earlier assignment, which she had already seen. She found the entry written the same day as his last session, and began to read. She nodded occasionally, as if agreeing with some point Dean had made in his writing.

“So, in your entry last Tuesday, after our last session, you wrote about how afraid you were, how much stress you were under as a child, and how you couldn’t let your brother see your fear, because then he’d also be afraid, and it would cause a ‘feedback loop of never-ending terror.’ You say here that ‘humor, charm, and competence became my cover.’ I think that’s very insightful, Dean. I wonder, have you ever told your brother, I mean, since he became an adult, about those specific feelings that you had, back then?” Mia asked.

“No. I’ve never discussed it with Sam. He’s thanked me, a few times, for raising him, it’s not like he’s unaware of what I had to do. But no, I’ve never made it clear to him what it meant to me to have to do it, or how scared I was that I would fail.”

Mia nodded again. “You say here that you _made_ your father put Sam in kindergarten; was he not intending to send you and your brother to school?”

“I don’t think it had really crossed his mind. I missed so much school, they had to hold me back. I knew Sammy was smart, he started reading on his own, and then I worked on it with him so he’d get better at it. I didn’t want him to miss out.”

“You didn’t want him to miss out, _the way you had_ , you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“You say here that back then, you resented him for being the one who got to be good in school, while you couldn’t concentrate in your classes due to your concerns over having to take care of everything. I wonder, Dean, have you ever considered that if you _hadn’t_ had those concerns, _had_ been able to concentrate, that you might have been seen to be just as bright as Sam?”

“Oh, no, I’m not, Mia. Sam’s _always_ been the smart one.”

“Because Sam was _**allowed**_ to be the smart one, Dean. You certainly don’t strike me as being in any way mentally deficient. At some point, Dean, it might be interesting to have you take an IQ test, and some cognitive evaluation tests, and prove it to you.” Mia grinned at him, then turned the page to his entry from Wednesday afternoon.

“Oh, you say here that you find journaling soothing; I’m so glad that you like it, Dean.”

Mia continued to read, and flushed a little; he knew she’d gotten to the part where he’d said that he trusted her not to judge him for what he chose to write about, and he smiled. She glanced up and saw the smile. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Thank _you_.”

“So, Sam did remember seeing your father hitting you. That’s too bad. Hmmm. You say here that you ‘remember Hell.’ I take it that’s _literal_?”

Dean nodded. “I was dead for four months; in Hell’s time, that’s forty years.”

“You say here that ‘a certain angel pulled you out’ and then you talk about someone named Cas pulling Sam out of a Cage. You want to fill in the blanks a little here, Dean?”

“Okay, here’s the quick and dirty version. As a baby, Sam was fed demon blood by a demon. I told you about that, before; that was when the fire started that killed our mom. The demon that fed him the blood, Azazel, wanted a leader for his demon army, so he created ‘special children’. Sam was just one, but he was Azazel’s favorite. But another of the ‘special children’, Jake, stabbed Sam in the back and killed him. Sam died in my arms, that time. I- I couldn’t take it. I made a deal with a crossroads demon to bring Sammy back from the dead. Normally, crossroads demons give you what you want, and you have ten years to enjoy it before you’re dragged to Hell. I was given only _one_ year, and then the hellhound came for me. I was tortured by a demon named Alastair for thirty of the forty years I was in Hell; then I became a torturer myself for the last ten years. And then I was rescued from the Pit by an Angel of the Lord, named Castiel.”

“That’s Cas?”

“Yes. Heaven wanted me out of Hell because I was destined to be the ‘true vessel’ of the Archangel Michael. And Sam was destined to be the ‘true vessel’ of another Archangel – Lucifer. And the angels wanted them to use us to fight each other, and cause the Apocalypse. So they sent Cas into Hell to rescue me. Azazel was working with other demons to free Lucifer from the Cage in which God had confined him. They managed it, and we can talk about how at some point, but the important thing is that for an angel to possess a human, they have to have the human’s consent. You have to say ‘yes.’ I _refused_ to say ‘yes’ to Michael. Sam said ‘yes’ to Lucifer, then managed to get control of his own body again, and used that control to lock Lucifer away in the Cage again – _in Sam’s body_. So then Sam had to be rescued as well. Cas rescued Sam’s _body_ , but not his _soul_. So Sam’s body, soulless, walked around for a year before anyone realized, and his soul was still down in the Cage, being tortured. Death rescued Sam’s soul, and put it back in his body, but part of it was walled off, so Sam wouldn’t have to deal with memories of the abuse he’d suffered. But the wall broke, and Sam had hallucinations, and started to lose his sanity. Cas felt guilty, so he took the damage from Sam’s soul into himself, and Cas lost _his_ sanity for a time, instead. He’s okay, now, though. I think that should be enough backstory for now, but if you see something else in the journal that doesn’t make sense, I can explain things further.”

Mia quirked a brow at Dean, but said nothing more about the background information he’d provided. “You say here that Cas never mentioned a problem with _your_ soul, and you wish you could speak with Cas about your memory issues, but you can’t. Why not? What happened to Cas? You said he’s okay now, so why _not_ just talk to him?”

“The reason Sam made me seek help from you, Mia, was that I get angry easily and push people away. One of the people that I pushed away was _Cas_. We had a fight, one of many, I blamed him unfairly for certain events, and he left. And afterward, I got really drunk. The next day, Sam laid down the law – I had to get help for my anger and my drinking.”

“When you say Cas _left_ …what did Cas leave?”

“Sam and I have a pretty big place that we inherited. It’s secluded, quiet, and protected from a lot of supernatural creatures. We call it the Bunker. Cas lives – was living – in the Bunker with us. But after that fight, he…left.”

Mia nodded, and turned the page to Thursday’s journal entry.

“Well, this first paragraph on Thursday is promising, Dean. You say here: ‘A lot’s happened since I wrote my last entry, yesterday. Hard to believe how much, actually. I feel like I’ve had walls up forever, that are now just crumbling to dust at the merest touch. I talked to Claire and admitted that I had messed up with Cas. I told Jody that I love her. I told Donna that she’s one of my favorite people and makes my life brighter by existing. And I told Sam that I don’t give him enough credit, and that I don’t want to shut him out any more.’ Now, I know who Sam is, obviously. Who is Donna?”

“Donna is one of the sheriffs that we work with occasionally as hunters, she does some hunts of her own, and she gets us information that we need sometimes when we have a case up by her; she’s in Minnesota. Jody is another sheriff, she’s in South Dakota. Both of them are great people and good friends, and they’ve sort of become family to me and Sammy. Claire is…complicated. Remember I said that angels need vessels? Most humans can’t see or hear angels in their true form; they have to possess a human, with permission, in order to be able to communicate with us. Cas possessed Claire’s father, Jimmy Novak. Jimmy died; in fact, Lucifer killed Jimmy and Cas, but God brought Cas back, in Jimmy’s body. Jody took Claire in after demons killed her mother, Amelia. Sam and Cas and I got Claire to Jody. Cas felt an obligation to Claire, and she’s always been kind of like a little sister to me and Sam. Claire’s a hunter, too, sometimes.”

“You also mention an Alex here, in a list of people that you apparently forgot love you. Who is Alex?”

“Another one of Jody’s foster daughters. We saved Alex from a nest of vampires. The head of the nest had kept her human, but was using her as bait to lure humans in. She was pretty messed up when we found her. Now she’s a pediatric nurse at the hospital in Sioux Falls.”

You also wrote here more about your relationship with Sam, and your relationship with Cas. You say that you don’t feel good enough for Cas, so you push him away, but you really want for him to stay. You sound conflicted, Dean.”

“Well, as you read, you’ll see that Cas and I have resolved some things between us. But yeah, I was conflicted about my feelings for Cas for a really long time.”

“You write here that Alastair gave you false memories of your father’s abuse of you in order to condition you to accept a deal.”

“Yeah. The deal was that I could get down off the rack, and end my own torture, if I agreed to torture others. There were a great many seals on the Cage, and sixty-six of them had to be broken to let him out. They weren’t literal seals, they were events that had to happen. Some had to happen in a specific order, and the first was that a righteous man had to spill blood in Hell. I broke the First Seal. I was the righteous man.”

Mia nodded. “You write here that you intended to show this entry to Sam, and you ask him not to argue with you about it. Did he read it?”

“He did.”

“Did he argue?”

“Of course not. He just flatly told me that I was wrong about my responsibility for having made the deal and wrong about the reasons why Cas left, then went on to tell me that I’ve never failed him, and I’m his hero.” Dean threw up his hands.

Mia smirked a little, but didn’t comment; she simply turned the page to the next entry. “Well, this Friday morning entry is a little depressing, Dean. It’s good that you’re making a point not to blame Cas for your memory issues, but then you went on to attack yourself pretty mercilessly, here. You write that you’ve ‘fucked things up’ between the two of you, that you’re ‘pathetic’, that Cas is ‘better off’ without you, and you should tell him to go find someone who’ll accept him for who he is, that you don’t believe that you deserve to be saved, loved, to have Cas as your best friend, in your life, or as part of your family, and that although Cas deserves to be happy, you’ve never tried to make him happy, because you believe you’ll fail.

"My goodness, Dean, did you take self-deprecation as a course in college?”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I know, that entry was a little over the top.

“Y’think?”

“But it felt true when I was writing it. I was in a bad place at the time.”

“So, continuing on Friday afternoon…. You mention here that when you said ‘no’ to Michael, someone named Adam said ‘yes’ instead?”

“Yeah. Adam Milligan. Turned out that Sam and I had a half-brother we knew nothing about. Dad never told us, we found out after he’d died. I was supposed to be Michael’s true vessel; it was a genetic thing, Winchester genes from Dad, Campbell genes from Mom. Apparently, when I made it clear that I would say ‘no,’ the angels decided that Adam’s Winchester genes from Dad would be good enough, and Michael could just use him, and Adam said ‘yes’. When Sam got control, in order to lock Lucifer away, he had to fall into the Cage through a hole in the ground; Michael tried to stop him from falling, but instead fell with Sam.”

“And then you mention Lisa and Ben; you say you were ‘playing house’ with them while Sam was soulless and hunting without you, that you pretended to have a nice little suburban family life, but it was all just smoke and mirrors, until Sam came to you, you deserted them, and had Cas erase you from their memories.”

“Yeah. Lisa was an old girlfriend. Ben was her son. I thought he might have been mine, but she denied it. After Sam fell into the Cage, Cas rescued his body almost immediately, but no one told me. And Sam had asked me to quit hunting, to go and be with Lisa and Ben. So I tried. But I was always looking for danger, watching around corners. And I acted like a prison guard, and I made them miserable. And then Sam came and found me, and I went right back to hunting, just up and deserted them. But I kept coming back, and every time I did, it just made them unhappy. Lisa ended up in the hospital because of a demon attack, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I knew they’d never be safe if I was in their lives. So Cas removed me from their memories, and I told them that they had been in a car crash, and I, the guy who hit them, just wanted to apologize. And then I walked away, and never saw them again.”

“You say here that you hurt Cas on purpose, because if you push him away, ‘at least when he leaves, it’s not because he wants to go, it’s because you made him go.’ Are you big on self-fulfilling prophecies, Winchester?”

“Little bit, yeah.” Dean looked sheepish.

“How’s that working for you?”

“Not real well. But I told you, Cas and I resolved some things. Keep reading.” Dean smiled a little, private smile.

“ _That’s_ a nice smile, Dean.”

Mia turned the page. “Of course, you’ll _always_ worry for Sam, Dean. That’s part of being a parent, no matter how old your child gets. And Sam _is_ your child, Dean, in a very real sense, though, of course, not biologically.”

Dean nodded. “I know. I had to be big brother, mom, and, usually, dad to Sam. The one thing that makes me proud of myself is the fact that he turned out so good, Mia.”

She smiled.

“You write here that you hurt Claire when she offered a gift. Tell me about that, Dean.”

“Claire is fierce when it comes to family. After her dad, Jimmy, Cas’ vessel, died, she filed a life insurance claim. But of course, they never found Jimmy’s body, because Cas is using it. So, he was considered ‘missing, presumed dead.’ The insurer refused to pay the claim. But after seven years, his status changed to ‘declared legally dead’ and they had to pay out. And there was a clause or something in the policy that Sam found, when he helped her file the claim, that if they delayed payment but eventually had to pay, there was a penalty. So Claire recently got a check for just over eight million dollars, and decided she wanted to share. She gave Jody one million, she wants to give Sam one million, and to me, Cas, Alex, and Donna, she wants to give seven hundred and fifty thousand each. And I told her I didn’t want her money. And I meant because I think she should have it for herself, not …”

“Not what, Dean?”

“I told her that I didn’t deserve the money. She got mad. She pointed out that I drove her to Jody’s in the middle of the night; that I taught her how to shoot and gave her her first gun and lore book, but tried to talk her out of hunting; that I’d convinced her to give Jody a chance; that I’d killed a vampire trying to kill her and cured her of being a werewolf; that without me, she’d be on the streets of dead, and she owed me her life and her family, and then she said that the money was peanuts in comparison, and that if I was saying that giving her a family and her life wasn’t worth anything then I should fuck myself very much. She knocked me over; I was on the phone with her, and when she ended the call, I was on my knees on the ground. She was vicious. She was mean. And I deserved it.”

“Did you?”

“Um.... No. I _didn’t_ mean to discount her feelings. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I was saying no to what I felt was an overly generous offer because I thought she should keep her money for herself because she deserves to have good things happen to her. Cas told her a little bit of what I’ve been through, and why I generally don’t like to take things from people, and after that, she and I talked, and we made up.”

“You say here that you can’t be fixed. Do you _really_ believe that?”

“Yes, and then, no. I think I _can_ get better, but the change has to come from _me_ , I have to _want_ it, and I have to _work for it_. No one else can do the work for me, and no one else can make me want it. So, no, I _can’t_ be fixed, by Cas, or anyone else, not even you. But you can help me and give me the tools to work on making _myself_ better.”

“Nicely said, Dean. You write here that explaining yourself to others is going to hurt, and you don’t want to hurt, but you think maybe you _have to_ , in order to heal. Why, Dean? Why does healing _have to_ be painful?”

“It’s like when a bone gets broken, and doesn’t get set properly; it heals, but it heals badly, and it has to be rebroken to be set correctly. I’ve been through a lot of bad experiences; I haven’t healed from all of them, and some of them set badly, and my soul needs to be re-set to heal, and the re-setting is going to hurt.”

“Your idea of writing letters to people is a good one, Dean.”

“I want to do that. I’d like for you to read them, Mia. I already wrote to Sam and to Cas, but they haven’t seen the letters yet. But I asked them, and if you say it’s okay to show them, they said they’d read them.”

“All right. Let me take a minute and go through them, here.” Mia read the letter he’d written to Sam.

“Dean, this letter to Sam is… _beautiful_. You _absolutely_ should give it to him. You’re a little down on yourself in it, but the majority of it is so positive and uplifting. I don’t think it will hurt Sam to read any of this, and I think he’d be happy to know that you’re so proud of him, and that you love him.”

Dean looked bashful at the praise. “Thanks,” he said, quietly.

Mia read the letter to Cas. “Oh, Dean.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes with a tissue.

“Bad?”

“No, sweetheart. You said that you and Cas talked, and resolved some things between you. Is this letter still _relevant_?”

“Partly. Some of the things I said in the letter, I said to him in person, but not all or even most of it. And I think it’s all stuff that he needs to hear. But even with things between us being better, I don’t know that I’d have the courage to _say_ the rest of it. Which is why I wrote the letters in the first place. Should I rewrite it?”

“Well, that’s up to you. You wrote here that you ‘certainly don’t have any expectation’ that Cas will forgive you, or go back to considering you his friend. You say that you’ve ruined that. If you’ve _resolved_ things, then that part isn’t true, is it?”

“Maybe not.”

“That would be the only part that I think you might want to change. And I’m not _telling_ you to change it, just to _consider_ it. Other than that, yes, I think you should give this to Cas. But I think you also need to say the words.”

“I did already. So did he. Keep reading.” Dean grinned at her.

“Oh, okay.” Mia turned the page, and saw that Dean had skipped to Monday evening, saying he’d been too busy to write, to process, or to think since the prior entry on Saturday morning.

“Oh, dear. Don’t let Cas keep Sam’s REM cycle off for too long. He _needs_ that.”

“Yeah, we know. We actually had a case where someone hadn’t been able to dream for decades, and it had made the poor guy kinda crazy.”

“You write here about your drinking being of concern to you, and to your family. How much do you drink, Dean?”

“The night Cas left, I drank nearly five bottles of whisky. Then I had none at all for about three weeks, until Saturday night, when I had nine bottles of beer.”

“Is binge-drinking once in a while what you usually do, Dean?”

“No. Until Cas left, my normal was to drink almost every day. Varying amounts, and not while working a case. But once I was off-duty? Yeah, I’d be at the bar knockin’ ‘em back. And then I’d be picking up someone for sex, most likely.”

“You write here that you were a demon?”

“Long story, but yes. Sam cured me of it. I’m not demonic now. I made Cas check to be sure.”

Mia got to the part of the entry where Dean wrote about Cas being in love with him, and admitted to being in love with Cas.

“Wow, Dean, when you resolve things with someone, you don’t screw around, do you? You jumped straight to being in love?”

“I told you earlier that I’ve been conflicted about my feelings for Cas for a long time. That’s why. I’ve been in love with Cas for ages, but I didn’t feel that I deserved him, didn’t think he’d ever feel the same way. But he admitted it first. And once he’d said it to me, well, that ended the conflict. Because deserve it or not, Cas’ love is something I’ve always wanted.”

“Good for you, Dean. I think that may be the healthiest thing you’ve said to me yet.”

Mia continued to read. “I like your resolutions, Dean…and I think you and Cas are right, that he should _not_ come straight home. I think it’s okay to spend time with Cas now and then, though.”

Dean grinned. “We had movie night last night.”

“See, Dean, you don’t need me at all.” Mia winked at him.

“Next week, same time?”

“You bet, Dean.”

“Homework?”

“Well, it seems journaling is really working for you, Dean. I’d say keep doing it.

"The letters to your friends and family are a good idea. Give Sam his letter. Think about whether you want to change that part of the letter to Cas that we talked about, and then give him a version of his letter. And then write to the others, I’d say maybe Claire should be next on the list? And I’ll read them next week, and we can talk about them.

"And it’s okay to write letters to people from the past, too. Your father? Bobby? Whoever. It might help to put your feelings down on paper.

"It doesn’t need to all get done _this week_ , Dean. Write what you feel like writing, as much or as little as you feel helps.”

Dean nodded. “It really does help me to put it on paper.”

“Good. Then just keep doing it, and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

***


	4. Dean's Homework Following Session #3, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a lot of therapeutic writing this week. TBC. ;)

_Dear Cas,_

_I spoke with Mia (my therapist) today and had her read the letter that I wrote to you last week. She suggested that it might not be quite so relevant, since you and I had resolved things and admitted we have feelings for each other, and that I might want to consider rewriting it. That’s tempting, but I want you to see what I wrote_ **_then_ ** _, as I wrote it. But I realized that I still have more to say, so I’m writing this as kind of an addendum, so to speak._

_The reason why I found it so hard for so long to tell you how I felt about you was that I didn’t know for sure how you felt about me, because you never said it until just the other night. And that made it easy for my own insecurities to gang up on me, to tell me that you – an Angel of the Lord – would never want me, never be in love with me. I wanted – sometimes_ **_desperately_ ** _– to tell you how I felt, but I was too afraid of being rejected by you._

_Sometimes I could almost believe that you wanted me as much as I wanted you – you’d get a certain look in your eyes, and I’d have hope – but I could never quite make myself believe that it could even be_ **_possible_ ** _, that I could ever be good enough for you, that you could or would or might ever be in love with me –_ **_until you said the words_ ** _._

_I know that you have said “I love you” before, and I’ve told you many times that you’re family, and family loves each other. But that isn’t the same thing as being_ **_in love_ ** _. Having it out in the open, at last, between us makes everything at once more difficult, and so damned easy, and I am so afraid of fucking it all up, and oh, Cas, I do not want to fuck up_ **_us_ ** _. Not again. It took us eleven years to say the words the first time. I want to be able to say them to you forever._

_For the record, I know that I still have to make amends to you, that saying “I’m sorry” and “I’m in love with you, too,” is not, and never will be, enough to make up for the many times and ways I’ve hurt you. But I have to say that I’m so happy that you did finally tell me that you’re in love with me, that I didn’t completely ruin everything, that you are still my best friend, and that there’s a chance that you will choose to return home._

_It’s not your fault that I’m insecure. And I’m not blaming you for not saying anything before – I’ve come to understand that you have your own insecurities, and hell, I never said it before, either. I’m just explaining things from my perspective, because I want you to understand me. I know that you already understand much of me, better than probably anyone but Sam. You know how I’ll react to most things, because you watch, and you observe, and you take care to remember the details. Just so you know, I love that about you._

_But I want you to understand_ **_everything_ ** _about me, as far as that’s possible, and I haven’t made that easy, because I don’t open up enough. That’s not on you, that’s on me, but I need to do better, for both of us, at communicating with you. I may_ **_never_ ** _be able to say some things out loud, Cas. When it comes to expressing my feelings, I truly am a coward. I’m sorry for that, but I don’t know if I can change it. I’ll try, but I may have to keep writing; I hope you’ll keep reading._

_You were right when you told me that I have to want to change, and that you can’t make me want it. You’re right – the change does have to come_ **_from me_ ** _. I need you to know that I_ **_do_ ** _want to change, and it’s not that I don’t want your help, but you can’t make me want it, I have to want it for myself. And I’m afraid I’ll fuck that up, too, and that fucking that up will fuck up us. I wish I could say that I’ll never hurt you again, but I won’t make promises to you that I don’t know I can keep. I_ **_can_ ** _promise that I will try to be better. Because whether I “deserve” it or not,_ **_Cas, your love is a gift_ ** _, and I will not throw it back at you._

_So, I hereby resolve:_

  * _to try to be better about accepting help, particularly from you._
  * _to try to be better about admitting when I need help, particularly from you._
  * _to try to be better about letting you know that I need you, not just for your help, but in general._
  * _to try to be better about telling you that I love you, and how much I love you._



_No, wait, that last one’s not a “try”. I resolve to_ **_be_ ** _better. Because I_ **_have_ ** _to be better about that. I_ **_have_ ** _to tell you more often. Preferably daily. In many, varied, interesting and exciting ways._

_So, here’s today’s:_

_**Castiel, Angel of the Lord, guardian, best friend, Cas – I love you. I am in love with you. I have been for a very long time. I think that you are amazing and wonderful, and knowing that you love me back makes me feel like I could fly.** _

_Thank you, Cas._

_Always,_

_Dean_

***

_** Tuesday, after session ** _

_I spoke with Sam when I got home and gave him his letter. He got to the end of the first paragraph and got up to hug me. Once he’d read the whole thing, he said that yes, he is a little broken, but it’s not because of me. I asked him if he’d wanted to die, during the Trials, because that’s always bothered me. He said no, he hadn’t wanted to die, but that if, by dying, he could have saved millions of people, then he thought it would have been worth it to die. And it wasn’t because I made him feel like he had to be some kind of a ritual sacrifice._

_And then I mentioned that I might rewrite the letter to Cas, because it wasn’t as relevant as when I’d written it, and Sam guessed that I’m in love with Cas. So, I admitted it, and said that Cas had admitted that he was in love with me, too, and all Sam had to say was that it was “about time.” I asked if he was okay with it, and he said that “love is love is love. You can’t help who you fall in love with. And it’s_ **_Cas_ ** _. Cas is pretty great.” And then he told me that_ **_I’m_ ** _pretty great, too, and that Cas fell for me for a reason, and I should let myself believe it._ **_So, today, I choose to do just that_ ** _._

_I am in love with Cas. Cas is in love with me. I am going to take that at face value, and_ **_just be fucking happy, for once in my life!_ **

***

_** Wednesday afternoon ** _

_I need to write to Claire. I’m finding it hard to think of what to say to her, so I’m avoiding it for the moment._

_Sam wants to hire a research assistant (and he drafted the most ridiculous help wanted ad; his first draft had me laughing so hard my sides still ache a bit). I’m thinking about hiring someone to help out at the Salvage Yard when we’re not there – which will be most of the time. Thanks to the gifts from Claire (the checks arrived in today’s mail), we can afford it, but I don’t want to tap those funds. Probably gonna have to._

_The inheritance from Bobby is technically worth more, even at the low appraisal value, but it’s not liquid, it’s tied up in assets, like the Yard’s inventory. So I’d probably have to tap Claire’s gift to restore some of the inventory, anyway, in order to get anything approaching the vehicles’ actual value. It’s her gift of cash that makes it possible to use Bobby’s legacy at all, really._

_I need to tell her that. I need to thank her. I need to admit that I need her help, and that I am going to take it._

_But first, I need to apologize to her._

_**Again.** _

_Fuck._

_I know_ **_exactly_ ** _what I need to say to Claire, I just don’t want to have to say it._

_I’m so ashamed of the way I acted, the things I said, the hurt I caused her. And I know she’s already forgiven me, and moved on._

_**So, why can’t I forgive myself?** _

_All right, all right. I know what I have to do. I better just do it. Rip off the band aid. Make the hurt quick, and get it over with. It’ll sting, but it’ll feel better after, right?_

***

_Dear Claire,_

_I remember when we first met, the night the demons attacked your family. You were, what, ten, then? Long, straight, blonde hair, serious blue eyes, beautiful, and so_ **_fierce_ ** _, even then. I don’t know how much you remember of that fight; Cas possessed you for part of it._

_I remember when I saved you from the loan shark, and you_ **_hated_ ** _me for it._

_I remember when we found you in the hospital in Tulsa, and I took you to play miniature golf. I gave you a gun, and we found your mom, but she died to save you; we took to Jody’s after that._

_I’ve watched you grow up. I never wanted a hunter’s life for you. I tried to talk you out of it. But realizing that I couldn’t, I tried to supply you with weapons, skill, and knowledge as best I could._

_Now, you are a hunter in your own right. Smart, capable, still fierce. All grown up. Loyal, caring, and giving. And still beautiful._

_**I am so proud of you.** _

_And I am so ashamed of myself._

**_Thank you for your gift, Claire._ ** _That’s all I should have said when you first brought it up – thank you. I didn’t intend to hurt you, didn’t intend to discount your feelings, but I did, and I am still so sorry, sweetheart._

_I know that Cas spoke with you about my past. I don’t know exactly what he told you. I assume you likely have questions, and if you want to ask, I’ll try to explain._

_It’s hard for me to express my feelings, and it’s hard for me to explain my past, because I did so many things of which I am not proud, and so much of it, to any_ **_normal_ ** _person, just simply sounds_ **_unreal_ ** _. There are only a very few people who know about most of it; only Sam and Cas know anything close to_ **_all_ ** _of it. But the point is that, when it comes right down to it, I don’t feel that I deserve to have nice things, to have good things happen to me, to have good people be in my life, because of my past. I’m already so in awe of the fact that you are in my life at all, that you wanting to give me such a generous gift – or any gift at all – pushes me into that discomfort zone, and my reaction is to pull back, decline, say no._

_It’s a conditioned response, and another part of it is_ **_fear_ ** _. “They’ll give me something nice, but then something bad will follow,” is a lesson that I’ve sadly learned all too well. It’s instinctual, now._ **_Intellectually, I know you don’t want to hurt me, Claire-Bear._ ** _But when offered something nice, my instincts tell me to shrink back and say no. I don’t_ **_like_ ** _that instinct, but it’s ingrained deep, and I have to fight it. When I have an expectation of a gift, like at Christmas or a birthday, I can steel myself up ahead of time, and push that instinct down enough to enjoy a gift. But when it comes as a total surprise, as your announcement did, I’m defenseless against it – the instinct takes over, and I react._

_I’m not trying to defend my actions, just to explain them._ **_I was wrong to hurt you, and I’m sorry it happened._ ** _I just want you to understand_ **_why_ ** _it happened. Because you_ **_matter_ ** _to me, Claire._

_And_ **_because_ ** _you matter to me, I should have taken better care than to drink around you. I won’t do it again. I’m trying to quit drinking altogether. I may relapse again._ **_But if I do, it won’t be around you_ ** _. I’m so glad that you’re on Cas’ radar, and that he sensed your upset and came to see what was wrong. Once he had me cleared of alcohol, I was truly disgusted by my behavior with you._

_And you were right – I’ve said and done a lot worse with the “random chicks” I’ve picked up while drunk over the years. And that shames me, too. It’s not the kind of man I want to be._

_So, I’m going to do the work I need to do to change, to be the man I want to be. Because I want and need to be that better man,_ **_for me_ ** _. And also because I want and need to be that better man f_ **_or the people who care about me – my family, including you._ ** _You’re my little sis, Claire-Bear, and I’m so sorry if I made you feel unsafe, or that you couldn’t trust me. I want to win back that trust._

_I don’t know if Jody mentioned it, but it turns out that Bobby left everything to me and Sam when he died. So, I will be in Sioux Falls more, working in the Salvage Yard, restoring some of the vehicles in inventory. Your gift will help us to use his gift to us, so thank you again for making that possible._

_I love you, Claire._

_Always,_

_Dean_

***

_** Thursday morning ** _

**_Cas is in my bed, asleep_ ** _. I could reach out, and touch him, but I want to let him rest._ **_But there he is_ ** _. And I am so_ **_happy_ ** _. I don’t know if I’ve ever been_ **_this_ ** _happy, ever. All we did, really, was sleep in the same bed, snuggled up against one another, but it was so fucking_ **_perfect_ ** _. I realized that I could relax, trust in it, that it wasn’t going to be snatched from me. And damn, if that didn’t make me feel better than alcohol ever has. And when I woke up, he was still right there, in my arms. It’s really_ **_real_ ** _._

_But I’m starting at the end._

_Sam and I were talking yesterday, and he teased me, just a little, and I got snappish. And then I apologized, and said that this thing with Cas was just so_ **_new_ ** _. And Sam said, “Dude, it’s been_ **_eleven years_ ** _.” But it_ **_hasn’t_ ** _been. I’ve_ **_known_ ** _Cas that long, and yeah, probably at some level, I knew how_ **_I felt about him_ ** _the entire time. But I didn’t know how_ **_he felt_ ** _until last week. Sam seems to have been taking for granted that, this whole time, we each knew how the other felt, but if we had, we’d have been together a lot sooner. And when I pointed that out, Sam apologized._

_But then later, we were talking with Gabe, and Gabe said, “it’s about time,” like we’ve just been completely_ **_obvious_ ** _to everyone about our feelings all along. So, now I have to wonder –_ **_how fucking oblivious am I_ ** _, if everyone else knew how Cas felt about me, and_ **_I just never saw it_ ** _? And the worst thing is that, looking back, I think Cas_ **_did_ ** _know, but thought that I would be so uncomfortable being in a relationship with him that he just never said anything, assuming that I would reject him out of hand. Which means that I’m the jerk, here._ **_Just one more way that I’ve hurt Cas_ ** _._

_Cas learned that Lucifer’s … ghost, I guess? ... is in Sam’s brain. He’s been trying to research what Lucifer told him, that Lucifer was given a choice when he died, to go to The Empty, or to be put back into The Cage, but no one specified The Cage that’s actually in Hell, and somehow he knew there was a duplicate in Sam’s head, so he chose to go there, instead. But Cas’ contacts didn’t know anything, so he thought he’d try asking Amara. So, he took a chance, and he went to Reno to find her – and found that she’s with Chuck. And so then he called and left me a message, but then passed out – and when he came to, he learned that Gabe, and Jack, and about 300,000 other angels loyal to Cas had been awakened by The Cosmic Entity, and sent to help. The Entity wants Cas to “deal with God, so I don’t have to.” And, in exchange, The Entity released Cas from some deal Cas made with it –_ **_which he still needs to tell me about_ ** _– and brought back the angels. So, Cas sent the rest of the angels up to power up Heaven, and brought Gabe and Jack here, to surprise me and Sam._

_And boy, did it. Sam passed out. I broke a glass, and I’m honestly surprised I didn’t end up joining Sam on the floor._

_Then Cas was telling us about all this, and then he said he needed to speak with just me and Sam. So Gabe and Jack went off on their own. And Cas explained that he hadn’t wanted to tell us what he’d learned until he could verify whether or not it was true, and that’s why he’d tried to seek out Amara. Apparently, Lucifer is a ‘memory with intent’ – no longer an Archangel, but more than a memory, he can interact with Sam in Sam’s dreams – and has been. And if Cas can find a way to excise the memories from Sam’s brain, he’ll cease to exist. Cas has done that kind of thing before – he erased me from the memories of Lisa and Ben. So he went to try to see Amara, to find out whether what Lucifer told him was true._

_And Cas told us all of this, and obviously he’d been working really hard to try to figure out what the truth was, and what he could do to solve the problem, so I said, “Good job, Cas.” And I meant it, he’d done a good job. And Cas looked so confused, and asked me why I wasn’t_ **_angry_ ** _with him. And that just broke my heart, because I realized –_ **_that would have been my reaction, before._ **

_Looking back now, I see that every time I snapped at Cas, when he was doing his best (which is a lot), I was making him feel useless and unworthy, and like I hated him –_ **_when exactly the opposite is true._ ** _So I made sure that, this time, I explained how I could see how he’d done everything right, told him that I trust his judgment – and I do, implicitly. And then I went to make a pot of coffee, but I was just in the next room, so I heard Cas tell Sam “_ **_that wasn’t what I was expecting_ ** _.” Again, heart breaking, because my reaction yesterday_ **_should_ ** _be what Cas_ **_always_ ** _expects, because it’s what he_ **_deserves_ ** _. And the fact that he_ **_doesn’t_ ** _expect it, expects me to be_ **_angry_ ** _with him, just shows me how much damage I’ve done._

**_And yet, he’s still here_ ** _. And that gives me hope._

_I gave Cas his letters. And his reactions to what I wrote were just the_ **_best_ ** _. Especially when he got to the end of the second letter, and told me again, “I love you, too.” He was crying, so I reached over and tried to wipe away the tears, and then it was like gravity just took over, and suddenly, I was kissing his cheek, and then the other, and then his lips. And just as I started to pull back, he sort of swooped in and kissed back. And it was_ **_amazing_ ** _._

_And then the two of us went back and joined Sam, Gabe, and Jack, and that’s when we told Gabe that we’re together. Gabe said that I looked “almost happy” and asked “what gives?” and I said “Not much. Therapy. I quit drinking. Fell in love.” And Gabe asked when he’d get to “meet the lucky girl,” and Cas just leaned forward and said “That would be me,” and then grinned at me. And that’s when Gabe made the comment about how it was “about time.”_

_Later, I was putting leftovers away, and suggested that Jack and Cas and I go for a drive, so Jack could get more experience driving. Jack took the keys and ran for the garage. And then Cas pointed out that it would be late when we got back, so I suggested that he stay the night at the Bunker, and pointed out that he still had a room here – if he wanted it. And he got right away that I was asking him to stay in my room, but he made me confirm it, teasing me just a little, and I loved that he had the confidence to do that. It made me feel a little better._

_We went for a drive, and we’d been out on the road a while, and there was a diner, so we stopped to get pie and coffee. And Jack went off to the bathroom, and Cas and I were talking, and he said he wasn’t sure it was possible to excise all memory of Lucifer from Sam’s brain, simply because Lucifer features in so many cultural myths, legends, etc. If he excises all memory of Lucifer, and then Sam sees a movie on TV where Lucifer’s a central character, does that bring it all back? And I told Cas that if anyone can fix this problem, I have faith that it’s him, and if he can’t, it’s not because he didn’t try, or didn’t care enough about Sam. We’ll find a way, and it’s not all on him – we’re a team. And that made him relax a little, and that made me feel better, too._

_When we got back, Jack ran on ahead – he’s got so much energy. And then Cas yawned and stretched. And I asked if he was tired, and he said that he was so old, he thought he was entitled to a rest period. So I said I’d let him rest, and then he said he might need my assistance. First he said he might need help untying his shoes; then he said I should stick around to make sure that he didn’t injure himself while taking off the rest of his clothes. And of course, he wasn’t serious, he was laughing the whole time. And we walked into my room, and I closed and locked the door, and it was like the click of the lock was a switch that turned Cas on, and we were kissing, and he had me pushed up against the door, and it was_ **_hot_ ** _, but he was wearing that awful old suit of Jimmy’s, and I kept getting distracted. I really do need to take Cas shopping for clothes, but I get why he didn’t want to talk about it right then._

_And then I was kissing Cas’ neck, and I suddenly got overwhelmed. And I told him. I said that I wanted this, I wanted him, wanted everything, but also wanted not to screw up, and not to be so damn scared. And suddenly, I was terrified. And I tried to explain, and I think he got it. I told him, “You are everything I’ve ever wanted, and never believed I could have. And we’re doing really well, and it’s all been going just exactly the way I want it to, and that just entirely fucks me up, Cas. I’m terrified. That I’ll say something awful. That I won’t be enough. That you’ll leave. And if we… did what I think we were probably about to do, and then you left…. Cas, I… couldn’t deal with that. And that tells me that, as good as this is, and as much as I so desperately want it… and you… I’m just not ready.”_

_I thought he’d be mad, but he just nodded, and said it was okay, we’d try something else. He sat next to me on the edge of the bed, and told me to just breathe until I felt comfortable again. And when I did, he suggested that we just go on our own and get ready for bed, and we’d meet back in my room when we were in our pjs. So we did that._

_When we got back, Cas locked the door, because Gabe was around. And then I asked him what he wanted to try, because he said he thought we should try something different, and I wasn’t sure what he meant. So he said that he thought “we should just get used to each other again. You’ve been my best friend, and I’ve been yours, for a really long time. And we’re still best friends, but now, we’re also more, but we’ve never been more before. So, neither of us is sure of how to be more. And that’s what we need to take slowly, and that’s what we were rushing, earlier. The more. So, we slow down the more, and get used to being best friends, and more, at our own pace.” And I said that made sense, but our pace has been fucking_ **_glacial_ ** _and I didn’t want to wait that long._

_So he suggested that we try just one new thing that we hadn’t done before, and that I could pick what it should be. And I honestly couldn’t think of anything that was both new, and yet not too much. So he suggested we try just sleeping together, pjs on, snuggling if we felt up to it. He said that just sleeping together can be really intimate, and it would be more, and new, but still – just sleeping._

_And it was_ **_perfect_ ** _. We did end up shirtless, and at one point we were kissing, and I thought it was going to go somewhere hotter, and it was starting to make me nervous again, even though it felt so_ **_good_ ** _. But then Cas just rolled over, pushed back against me, and told me to “come and snuggle” with him. And he pulled me close, and wrapped my arm around him. And then he told me to go to sleep, and he closed his eyes._

_And I realized that he was really_ **_there_ ** _, in my arms. He wasn’t leaving. He was there, he was safe. He was voluntarily snuggled up against me. Everything was good. I could trust it. I could have it. It was perfect, it was what I wanted, and it was mine. I wasn’t going to wake from a dream, screaming, to find that he was gone. It was real. No one would take it from me, no one was going to snatch him away from me in the night. No one was going to yell at me, no one was going to think less of me for wanting it, for taking it, for trusting in it. I could relax, and just enjoy it, because nothing was being demanded of me, except that I go to sleep. It was okay. Everything was good. So,_ **_so_ ** _good._

_Best night’s sleep I think I’ve ever had, wrapped around an angel._ **_My_ ** _angel._

_And when I woke up, he was still there, still sleeping. And I got to lay there holding him, which sounds a little creeper-ish to say, but it was_ **_just so fucking perfect_ ** _._

_Of course, I had to get up eventually. I needed to use the bathroom, and I needed coffee. And when I got out in the hall, I realized that Cas doesn’t usually sleep unless his grace is so low that he’s nearly human, but his grace is fully regenerated right now. And I_ **_almost_ ** _freaked out, almost went in to wake him and demand answers. What wasn’t he telling me? Why wasn’t he taking care of himself? Etc._

_But I_ **_didn’t_ ** _. I stopped myself. I went to the bathroom, I got coffee, and then I found Gabe. And I asked him if an angel could sleep with fully charged grace. And he said that they can, even at full strength, but they usually don’t, unless they’ve been through a lot recently, or are expecting to go through a lot soon – and that both of those were true of Cas, right now. He said I shouldn’t worry, and he could see that I_ **_had been_ ** _worried – and that I really am in love with Cas._

_And then_ **_Gabe welcomed me to the family_ ** _, said that I was a good man, and that Cas and I are good together. And he could have knocked me over with one of his feathers._

_I mean, Gabe’s always been the friendliest of the Archangels, but we’ve always kind of rubbed each other the wrong way, and I never thought he’d think I was good enough for Cas, especially when he says himself that he thinks Cas is the “best of us.” I mean, good enough to be Michael’s vessel, sure – Michael was always in charge. But as_ **_myself_ ** _, as an entity in control of myself,_ **_being good enough to be with Cas_ ** _? Never thought even Gabe would say that. Blew me away. Not quite as much as when Cas told me he was in love with me – but really fucking close to it._

_Oh, I think Cas is waking up. Time to go talk to my angel._

**_My angel_ ** _. I really fucking love saying that._

_***_


	5. Dean's Homework Following Session #3, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots and lots of therapeutic writing this week, in fact. TBC. ;)

_Dear Dad,_

_Turns out that most of what I thought I knew about you was fake, implanted by Alastair in Hell. Makes it hard to keep hating you, to keep being so angry at you._

_Except that the one constant on which everyone agrees is that_ **_you were a neglectful son of a bitch_ ** _. You made me a parent at the age of four, forced me to raise Sam because you couldn’t be bothered, because your revenge was too important to you, so important that you were willing to abandon your own children – us – for days, even weeks, at a time. If it hadn’t been for me, Sam would have starved, or ended up on the streets, or dead. If it hadn’t been for me, Sam would never have gone to school. The fight the two of you had about Sam going to Stanford? Wouldn’t have happened, but for me, and my making sure that Sam always did his homework, got to school on time, had a lunch to eat._

_**So, yeah, I’m still angry.** _

**_What about me, Dad?_ ** _While I was taking care of_ **_Sam_ ** _, who was supposed to take care of_ **_me_ ** _? Who was supposed to make sure that_ **_I_ ** _got to school on time, did_ **_my_ ** _homework, had a lunch to eat?_

_Everyone always credits Sam with being smart, and God knows, he is._ **_But what about me?_ ** _High school drop out, got my GED, never even went to trade school, much less college, because you and hunting and revenge had to be more important. But Mia, my therapist –_ **_yeah, Dad, that’s right, your son’s in therapy, and he likes it_ ** _– says that she thinks that tests would show that_ **_I’m every bit as smart as Sam_ ** _, that if I had ever been_ **_allowed_ ** _to be good at school, I would have been. But all my worrying, about Sam, about where you were, about whether I could make the money last, the food be enough, about whether today was the day I would pass out from hunger because I had to make sure Sam got fed, even if I didn’t – that was all a_ **_distraction_ ** _that kept me from doing my best in school, that made sure that I wasn’t listening when the teacher was asking a question or giving a lecture. I had more important things on my mind. I was too busy trying to make sure Sam and I stayed_ **_alive_ ** _. And that’s on you, Dad._

**_So, yeah, I’m still angry_ ** _._

_I’ve been so angry for so long that I couldn’t keep it in. It bubbled up constantly, and it’s affected every potential relationship I’ve ever had. I almost lost the one person I couldn’t bear to live without because of it. But you know what, Dad?_ **_I got help._ ** _And I found out that expressing my feelings won’t kill me, doesn’t make me weak. In fact, it makes me stronger. And I’m letting go of that anger. I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I’m better off without it._

_I’m in love, Dad. With Cas. An Angel of the Lord permanently in a male vessel. And he’s in love with me. We’re together, and that makes me stronger._

_I don’t know whether you would have liked this relationship, or not. My memories of you say that you wouldn’t, but I know those memories are flawed. If you weren’t the homophobic asshole that I remember, then I apologize. But even if you wouldn’t have liked it a bit, Dad – I don’t care._ **_This is mine, and you don’t get to take it from me._ **

**_For a long time, I thought I loved you._ ** _I built you up in my mind as a hero, someone to emulate, someone of whom I was proud, an icon. But you_ **_abandoned_ ** _us, Dad. You were a_ **_drunk_ ** _, and even if you never laid a finger on me,_ **_you neglected us to the point of abuse_ ** _._

**_For a long time, I thought I hated you_ ** _. I thought you had beaten me, abused me physically, yelled at me, blamed me for Mom’s death, were a homophobic, feelings-phobic, angry son of a bitch. But I’ve come to find out that a lot of those memories of you were false, implanted by a minion of Hell. And there’s the small matter of you dying, making a deal with Azazel, to save my life. Apparently, I mattered to you after all._

**_Now, I just don’t care_ ** _. Good, bad, it doesn’t matter. You’re gone, you’re not coming back, and, by all accounts, you’re happy with Mom in Heaven. Good for you. Have a nice eternity._

_**Fuck you, Dad.** _

_I love you._

_Dammit._

_Dean_

_***_

_Dear Bobby,_

**_Thank you._ ** _You took us in, you gave us shelter, food, structure, and love. You were gruff, but never harsh, and always fair. You didn’t play favorites, you didn’t try to make me into a mini-adult with more responsibility than I could handle, you treated me with respect, you were kind, and you made me feel like I mattered._

_I have nothing to resolve with you. No issues, no bad feelings. You were a constant force for good in my life._

_I recently learned that you left everything to me and Sam. I want to try to make the Salvage Yard a going concern again. It will always be Singer’s._

_I miss you._

_I love you._

_Dean_

_***_

_Dear Lisa,_

_I can’t send this to you, but I wish I could. There are so many things I want to say, that I should have said a long time ago. “I’m sorry” being first among them. I’m sorry that I made you and Ben unhappy. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me. I’m sorry that my being in your lives made you unsafe._

_Just so you know, I cried, walking away from you in that hospital. Leaving you and Ben behind was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I will likely always regret it. But I still believe it was the right thing to do, and that you’re better off without me._

_I secretly check up on you now and then, in ways that don’t let you know that you’re being checked on. That “inheritance” from the relative you didn’t know existed? That’s because she didn’t – that money was from me. You were going through a rough patch, and I couldn’t stand it; I had to help, but I couldn’t let you know. I know you denied it, but I still think Ben was really my kid. Even if not, I love him as if he were, and I miss him. It’s almost time for him to start college, so you may be getting another “inheritance” soon._

_I love you, Lis. I wanted to be in love with you. I thought I was. I tried to be. But I just couldn’t make it work. I think now that I know why – I was, I am, in love with someone else. He and I are together now, finally, and I’m happy. I hope that you are happy, too._

_I have nothing to resolve with you. No issues, no bad feelings. You were a constant force for good in my life. I just wish that I could have been the same for you. I can’t regret the time we shared, but I regret that you were hurt by it, by me._

_Goodbye, Lisa._

_Dean_

_***_

_Dear Mom,_

_I miss you. I wish you were here. I think you’d be pleased with me, with the progress I’m finally making. I’m in therapy, Mom, finally getting help with my anger issues. I’m trying to quit drinking, I’ve admitted that I’m an alcoholic, and I’m trying to stay sober. And I finally admitted that I’m in love with Cas, and he finally admitted that he’s in love with me, and we’re together, now, Mom. Sorry you won’t be getting any grandbabies from me, but I know you’d be happy for us anyway._

_I had a lot of abandonment issues, Mom. I resolved most of the ones that resulted from you dying when I was four when Amara brought you back. I just wanted to be sure to tell you that I don’t blame you anymore. Your death wasn’t your fault. Yes, you made a deal with Azazel, but that was for Dad’s life, and if you hadn’t made it, Sam and I wouldn’t exist. Yes, you got up and went to check on Sam, and Azazel killed you because you interrupted him, but that’s on him, not you. I can’t keep blaming you for things you didn’t do, and for things you could never have expected to happen. What Azazel did – to you, to Sam – that wasn’t your fault, it was Azazel. Not you. I’m sorry, Mom, that I blamed you for that._

_When Amara brought you back, I should have just been grateful to have you, and, instead, I gave you such a hard time. Of course you needed time and space to think about your relationship with us. You knew us last as a toddler and a baby, and the next thing you knew, we were grown men, who didn’t need coddling and the crusts cut off. You needed to adjust to that, and I got angry._ **_I was an idiot, Mom. I’m sorry._ **

_I love you, Mom._

_Always,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Ben,_

_I can’t send this to you, but I wish I could. I wrote to your mom, earlier today; I can’t send her that letter, either. But even knowing you’ll never see this, I have some things that I want to say to you._

_First, I love you. Your mom denied that you’re mine, biologically; I still think you might be, no matter what your mom said, but whether you are or not, that never really mattered to me. From the moment I met you at your eighth birthday party, you might as well have been my son. It was so easy to love you. You were such a good kid, and you and I had so much in common._

_Second, I’m sorry. I know that living with me wasn’t easy. I was afraid for you, but rather than explain why, I turned into Mr. Prison Guard, and tried to keep you safe by enclosing you. I should have known it wouldn’t work. I’m sorry that you were unhappy because of the way I acted. I’m sorry that I abandoned you and your mom to go back to hunting. I know that you never understood why I had to go, or what was so important that I had to leave, or why I had to leave you behind, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t and didn’t explain it. Maybe if I had explained, things would have been better, I don’t know. I can’t regret that I met you, but I very much regret that I made you unhappy by trying to keep you safe, failed to keep you safe anyway, and then had to leave you behind._

_I know that I don’t exist for you, now. I hate that, but I still believe it’s for the best. If I was in your life, you’d never be safe. As it is, I continue to check up on you and your mom from time to time, in ways you’ll never find out that I’m doing it. I’ve seen you on social media, playing baseball and football and soccer. I have the ability to pay for your college education, now, so your mom is going to get a little unexpected “inheritance” soon._

_I miss you. I’m proud of you. I wish there was a way to be in your life and yet have you be safe. There just isn’t. I wish I could be at your graduation ceremony; I know when it is. Maybe someone will post a video, and I’ll get a peek._

_I love you, kiddo. So much._

_Always._

_Dad_

_***_

_Dear Emma,_

_I’m sorry that I never really got the chance to be a father to you._

_I wish so many things – that your mother had told me the truth; that she hadn’t been an Amazon; that you hadn’t grown up over the course of just a couple of days; that I could have been involved with raising you; that you hadn’t bought into the Amazons’ brainwashing and tried to kill me; that you hadn’t been lying when you said that you’d escaped from them and didn’t want to be what they wanted you to be; that Sam hadn’t had to kill you, to stop you from killing me._

_I wish I could have helped you._

_I wish you’d loved me._

_I wish I’d had the chance to know you, to love you, to protect you, teach you, and be there for you, as a father should._

_I don’t tell anyone, but I think about you every day, baby girl. I think about what might have been, if only._

_I love you, sweetheart._

_Always._

_Dad_

***

_** Friday evening ** _

_I sat here looking at the blank page for longer than I ever have before._

_In the past, it’s been because I was intimidated by the thought of having to fill the emptiness._

_This time, it was because I didn’t even want to think about the things I’d have to fill it_ **_with_ ** _: the death of my daughter, whom I’ve kept a secret from the world, including Cas; Lucifer kidnapping Sam to offer assistance, of all things; and my dreams being invaded by Alastair – or a reasonable facsimile thereof, at least._

_Basically, the last 24 hours have been a horrorfest in my head, and I really don’t want to write about it – and that means I_ **_have_ ** _to. So, here goes._

_After writing the letters to Ben and Emma last night, I talked to Cas about Emma; he already knew about Ben, but I’d never told him about my baby girl before. And then I remembered the Amy Pond incident, so I told him about that, too._

_In telling Cas about the deaths of Emma and Amy, I realized that Emma really is the only thing about which I do not ever talk to Sam. I never have. I know he was trying to protect me when he shot her, but he was getting revenge on me for Amy, too. His revenge was more important to him than his own niece – my daughter._

**_I had a daughter_ ** _. For less than two weeks, but she was born, and she was, no question,_ **_mine_ ** _. And I loved her. Still do. Always will._

_I am still angry with Sam about her, and that’s why I don’t talk to him about it. Which probably means I should, and probably means Mia will tell me to. Honestly, until I told Cas about her, I’d never breathed a word to_ **_anyone_ ** _about Emma._

_When I was telling Cas about her, I started to cry. I had this fleeting thought that maybe I shouldn’t tell Cas, maybe he’d be jealous, or hurt that I’d never mentioned her before, or upset in some other way over the fact that I had a daughter that I’d kept a secret from him. But he didn’t get mad, didn’t get upset. He just gathered me in and held me. He listened, he cared, he comforted me._

_Then Lucifer kidnapped Sam to a pocket dimension for the purposes of volunteering his assistance. Sam came back and told us about it, obviously. Turns out Luci bore the Mark of Cain for millennia – even while Cain had it, and I had it – right up until his death; now that it’s gone, he says it’s no longer corrupting him, and so, now, he wants to stop being the bad guy, I guess._

_Lucifer took Sam to a pocket dimension to talk to him in order to keep Chuck away from their discussion. And Gabe shielded our meeting about Lucifer’s offer, along with the Bunker’s own warding._

_But after the meeting, I got so_ **_tired_ ** _. I felt like I was going to pass out where I sat, and by the time I got to my room, I was so tired I was_ **_dizzy_ ** _. I’ve been tired. Hell, I’ve been_ **_exhausted_ ** _. But I’ve_ **_never_ ** _felt like_ **_that_ ** _before. Should’ve been a clue._

_I fell asleep, and dreamt of Alastair; but not the Alastair of my past. This wasn’t a memory kind of dream, the kind where you relive a bad experience. This was more like Alastair actually came to visit, to tell me things he wanted me to know – to break me, to be honest. And it almost worked. Would have, but for_ **_Cas_ ** _._

_In the dream, Alastair set up two scenarios for the future – one where we win, and Chuck’s gone – and Cas has to run Heaven. And because I’ve been to Hell, I couldn’t go with him upstairs, and even if I lived, my lifespan’s a blink to Cas, and I’d be going back to Hell when I died. And that’s the_ **_best-case_ ** _scenario. In the worst-case, we_ **_lose_ ** _, and I end up not just in Hell, but back on the rack – with no deal available, and Cas unable to save me. No matter what, Alastair said, there was no scenario where I got to have Cas long-term. He said that what we have, our family, won’t last very long, that it was better for me to realize it and harden my heart now, because I have the most to lose, and I will lose it all._

_He painted a horrifying picture, and made me see it, made me believe it. He had me believing, again, that I’m just not good enough._ **_He had me on my knees_ ** _. He made me feel small, insignificant. In the dream, I shrank to about the size of a pea. That’s about how big I felt by the time he was done with me._

_I woke up, but I was practically catatonic. Cas and Sam came in, and I knew they were_ **_there_ ** _, but they were_ **_distorted_ ** _; I could_ **_almost_ ** _hear them, but it was like the song – ‘you are only coming through in waves, your lips move, but I can’t hear what you say’ – I know_ **_exactly_ ** _what that means now. They couldn’t reach me. So, Cas went into my head._

_He figured out what had happened, he found me, and he told me the truth. And I will never forget what he told me._

_He said: “Dean. I need you to listen to me. I need you to pay attention to me. Alastair lied to you, Dean. He’s a demon, demons lie. You know this, Dean. Please hear me, my love, my heart. You matter, Dean. You’re more than good enough. I love you. Sam loves you. Gabriel loves you and welcomed you to the family. Jack loves you. You matter, and you belong. Please, Dean. Come back to me. Hear me, Dean. I will not leave you. I will never leave you. Not ever. If you go away, I will come after you. I won’t leave you alone, Dean. I won’t let you end up in Hell. Think about it, Dean; if we were to win, and I was to end up in charge in Heaven, don’t you think I’d change that stupid rule of Chuck’s, and let you and Kevin, and Sam, and anyone else who was good, yet had spent time in Hell, come upstairs? Of course I would._ **_Dean, Heaven isn’t Heaven unless you’re with me_ ** _.”_

_That brought me out of it. And that means I really have made progress. Because as soon as Cas said it, I believed it, knew it to be true, understood it, accepted it. Thank you, Cas._

_And of course, he’s right: demons lie. The lie isn’t about the existence of the rule. It exists – presently, someone whose soul has been to Hell cannot enter Heaven. And clearly that lets out both me and Sam. And that’s why the dream was convincing._

_The lie is that the rule can never change. And of course, if Cas were in charge, it_ **_would_ ** _change._

_I asked Cas if it was really Alastair, or my own subconscious. His theory, though, was that it was_ **_neither_ ** _– it was_ **_Chuck_ ** _. And that makes sense. I mean, why would Alastair only be showing up in my dreams now, eleven years later? As Cas said, if he was going to show up, he would have, a long time ago. That lets out my subconscious. And the Bunker is warded really well against demons – and Alastair in particular – and Cas has put extra warding on the bedrooms, particularly mine and Sam’s. So it’d be really hard for the real Alastair to get in; and again, why bother now, when he never has before? Ah, but Chuck, he has reason, a motive to come after me. He’s powerful enough to slip through the wardings. He has access to both Heaven and Hell, so he could have raided Alastair’s memories to get what he needed. And the last, most selling point – in my dream, Alastair knew that Cas had been promoted to Seraph. Very few beings knew that, and Chuck was one of them. The real Alastair wasn’t._

_And then Cas asked if I would be all right if he went to_ **_Wyoming_ ** _. And I didn’t get it, just had no inkling of what he was trying to say; all I got was that he wanted to leave. And I just said, “Wyoming?” and he said he wanted to go pack up his things, break the lease on his cabin, get his truck, and drive back._ **_Because he thought it was time that he came home_ ** _. And then he kissed me._

_I’m not entirely sure that he thinks I’m ready. He might just be feeling protective. Either way, I’ll take it. I’ll just have to be really careful to continue to treat him as he deserves to be treated. I don’t want to hurt Cas again, so I have to stop myself from doing it._

_After that, Cas and I let Jack take us for another drive. We dropped Sam’s new assistant, Shann, off at his home – he officially starts tomorrow, but he came in today for a tour and to meet everyone – and then went out on the backroads to let Jack practice. Cas and I were both in the backseat, so we got to cuddle a little, subtly. Don’t want to do too much in front of the kid._

_We got back, and Cas suggested that I write, and said he needed to speak to Gabe. I’m guessing he’s asking Gabe to keep an eye on things here, especially me, while he’s gone. Used to be, that would have pissed me off. Now I know it’s just because he cares. And hey, if you’ve got an Archangel for a brother, use him to protect the ones you love, right?_

_So, yeah. It’s been a day. A horrible, fucked-up, awful day. But it had its high points, too._

**_Cas saying he wants to come home was the best of those_ ** _. Because I get it, now. He didn’t say he wanted to return to the Bunker._

_He said he wanted to come home._

**_To me_ ** _. I am his home, and he is mine._

_I am more than good enough. And he will always come for me. I know, because he told me so._

_I am in love with an Angel. He is in love with me._

**_Hallefuckin’lujah_ ** _._

***

_** Saturday morning ** _

_Wow. What a difference a night makes!_

_Cas has flown to Wyoming to break his lease on the cabin, pack up his things, get his truck, and then come home. So, he’s not here right now, but that’s okay. I don’t have to be_ **_physically_ ** _with him to be_ **_with_ ** _him._

_We tried the “just one new thing” thing again last night. The new “new thing” was being naked together, instead of just shirtless, but otherwise, it was a repeat of Wednesday night’s “just snuggling and sleeping together.” And just like on Wednesday, it was_ **_perfect_ ** _. I didn’t feel overwhelmed, or rushed, it just felt_ **_right_ ** _. Cas took his pj bottoms off first, and let me get used to him; he said it was up to me, as much or as little as I wanted. So, it was_ **_my_ ** _choice, to go further, or not. He didn’t push, he didn’t make suggestions. He let me explore his thigh with touch, didn’t shrink from it, didn’t rise to it, just lay there, passively, and let me touch him._

_I don’t know how he knew that was what I needed, but it was. And it calmed me, and made me want him to do the same. So I took off my pj pants, too, and rolled back to face him, and he_ **_did_ ** _– he reached out with one finger to trace the same line on my leg. Then he rolled over, and scooted back, but he left room between us. And I knew what to do. I scooted_ **_forward_ ** _, and closed the distance, wrapped my arm around him, and closed my eyes. And we whispered good night to each other – and_ **_went to sleep_ ** _._

_And that was it, and it was exactly right. No tension, no stress, no worry._

_This morning, I woke up with morning wood. Not unusual, but this time, it was pressing into the cleft between the ass cheeks of an angel. And my angel is a snuggly sleeper, so he was squirming back against me in his sleep. I knew that he would support my choice, as far as my feelings went, to have sex, or not, either way. And that made it possible for me to_ **_not_ ** _just pull back, roll away, get up, make an excuse. It made it possible for me to_ **_want_ ** _it, to want_ **_him_ ** _. So, I woke him to ask if it was okay, did he want me to? And he said he’d wanted me to for a long time, and if I was okay, so was he. And I realized that went both ways._ **_I was okay with it because he was_ ** _._

_So, I got out a condom and lube, and he reminded me that technically, we needed neither. So I agreed to ditch the condom – he’s clean and can’t get human diseases, not with his grace constantly healing him; if I ever had anything, he’s healed me of it by now, and I haven’t actually had sex in ages; and, as he said, neither of us can get pregnant – but I insisted on lube for prep. He said he didn’t need any – that I couldn’t hurt him because his grace would instantly heal him. But I said, “I don’t want you to have to_ **_heal_ ** _from what I do, no matter how instantly. I want you_ **_not to be hurt_ ** _in the first place, Angel. And maybe I just want to do_ **_this_ ** _, did you ever think of that?” and by “_ **_this_ ** _” I meant fingering him. It took about all of 2 seconds for Cas to get with_ **_that_ ** _program, although he did use his grace to stretch himself faster than normal._

_It just felt like coming home to push slowly into him, but he wanted more and pushed back at the same time. It was like we’d done it a thousand times before, just slowly moving back and forth, gentle and slow, just so perfect. He was so beautiful, trusting, giving. I think it’s the healthiest sex I’ve ever had in my life. It wasn’t just sex. We made love. I’ve heard that distinction made before – yeah, I read cheesy romance novels, sue me – but I’d never believed in it. Now, I do._

_Even once we were both done, he still kept trying to burrow closer. And I think that’s my fault. I think Cas is touch-starved, affection-starved. It’s not like he’s had much in the way of physical affection in the past eleven years. I know of two encounters he had, and one of them, April, was a reaper who killed him, and the other, Meg, was a demon who manipulated his emotions while he was temporarily insane. So, I wrapped myself around him, and held him tight, and he stopped wriggling and made happy noises._

_I said I thought that maybe counted as about 20 new things, and Cas said he’d stopped counting at 2,_ **_because his brain melted_ ** _. Have to say, I’m a little proud of that. “Hey, I’m so good, I made my angel lover’s brain melt!” Heh. Not that I need any more pick up lines, ever again; and not that that would really work as one. But still._ **_Go me!_ **

_He’ll be back tomorrow night. I assume he’ll be tired from the long drive. So, I’m thinking the next ‘new thing’ could be that I just give him a back rub until he falls asleep, and then just snuggle and sleep again. Between his being touch-starved, and being tired from the road, a good back rub should make him feel better. And it’ll make me feel good to feel like I’m taking care of him. So often, Cas takes care of me. I want to return the favor._

_I love him. I want to show him how much._

_***_

_Dear Jo,_

_Oh, I miss you, Joanna Beth. You and your smart mouth! First time we ever met, I disarmed you, and you punched me and took your gun back. Spitfire. First case we worked, you agreed to be used as bait for the ghost of a serial killer. I got you out, but it was a close call. Second case we worked, you saved my life, after a demon possessing Sam tried to drown me. You cut a bullet right out of my shoulder. Then the demons burned The Roadhouse, and we found part of Ash’s remains, but couldn’t find you or Ellen. Scared me spitless. You and Ellen weren’t answering your phones, and we thought you had died, as well. Then we found you, Ellen, and Rufus, in that town where War was causing everyone to have hallucinations. Ellen and I figured it out, and convinced you and Rufus that we were right, and you got the townspeople to stop killing each other._

_The one time I ever tried anything on with you, you shot me down and laughed at me. Said if it was going to be our last night on earth, you wanted to spend it with self-respect. And the very next day, you saved me from a hellhound, and it killed you, instead._ **_Dammit, Jo._ ** _I wish I had tried sooner. I wish I had tried more often. Then Osiris summoned your spirit as a witness against me; you refused to testify, but he tried to make you kill me. Sammy got the better of him and freed you, and you touched my face, and vanished._

_You had bad taste in music (REO Speedwagon, Jo? Really?), and in men (clearly!), but you could hold your liquor with the best of us. Remember the time Ellen challenged Cas to see who could drink the most shots? She was so sure she’d win, but he just slammed ‘em back like a champ. I’m with Cas, now, Jo. I think you’d be pleased._

_I have no issues to resolve with you, but I wish you were still around. You kept me on my toes, Jo. I love you._

_Always,_

_Dean_

_***_

_Dear Ellen,_

_I miss you. You were prickly, but you gave good advice. I remember you once told me that Gordon Walker was a “good hunter in the same way that Hannibal Lector was a good psychiatrist.” Considering Sam had to take Gordon down, you were right._

_You sure loved your daughter. You were so mad when you found out Jo was with me and Sam in Philadelphia, hunting, instead of in Las Vegas, as she’d told you. Can’t blame you; I let her put herself in danger, act as bait, and only barely got her out. I wish you had focused more of your anger on me than on her; maybe then she wouldn’t have run off to hunt on her own. I know how much that hurt you. I did try to talk her out of hunting, El. But you know Jo. She wouldn’t listen to me._

_It’s my fault the two of you are dead. The hellhound that was coming after me got Jo instead, and you stayed behind with her to set off the bombs, sacrificing yourself to save me and Sam. Dammit, Ellen._

_A while back, you got word to me through a psychic that, unless I talked to someone about how bad things were for me, unless I could learn to trust someone again, you would kick my ass from beyond. Well, I took my sweet time about it, but I’m in therapy now, El._

_And I’m in love with Castiel. You remember him, the angel who drank you under the table at Bobby’s? We’re together now. And I_ **_absolutely_ ** _trust him. I think you’d be pleased. Once you were done sniping at me for taking so long. The one constant reaction everyone seems to have to our relationship is “it’s about time!” I have no doubt that you’d be in line to be next to say the same._

_You were like a second mother to me, Ellen. In some ways, you were closer to me than my own mother ever was._

_I miss you. I love you._

_Always,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Charlie,_

_I miss you_ **_so much_ ** _, Your Majesty. I know you won’t like this, but I’m afraid that I didn’t feel right, LARPing without you, so I haven’t been to Moondoor since you died._

_Fuck, this is_ **_hard_ ** _. Seeing you dead in that bathtub really shook me; it sent me down a very dark path. I blamed Sam, unfairly, for your death for a long time, but I got the Stynes for you, sis. All of them. I’m in a better place, mentally, now; the Mark is gone._

_I’m finally with Cas, and happy, and I know you’d approve. I know how much you liked him, especially after he healed your hands of carpal tunnel._

_I told you once that you were “the little sister I never wanted.” It was really more like “the little sister I never_ **_knew_ ** _that I wanted.” I wouldn’t have wanted you to be out on the road with us; our life was harder than it should have been, and I wouldn’t have wanted you to go through what we did. But if you_ **_had_ ** _been our sister, we would have known you longer, had you around more, and_ **_that_ ** _, I do wish for._

_You told me once that you loved me, and I totally Han Solo’d you._ **_I should’ve said it back_ ** _. And not just the one time._

_I love you, Charlie._

_Always,_

_Dean_

_***_

_Dear Cassie,_

_I loved you. I trusted you. I thought you were the one. I told you the truth about myself and my work, which broke about a hundred rules. And for my honesty, you broke up with me, and wouldn’t talk to me again – until your father died, and you needed me to figure out what happened._

_I came when you called. I brought Sam with me, and introduced you to him. I told you again that I loved you. We made love. Sam and I figured out the ghost situation, and fixed it. I wanted you to come with us. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to come back to you. You told me to go, and that you didn’t see us together. I told you that I would come back, again._

_I believed it, then. Turns out, it was a lie. That’s the only lie I ever told you._

_I didn’t come back to you. For one thing, you didn’t seem to want me to. For another, I’ve been kind of busy saving the world a couple of times. Then there was Lisa, although if I’d thought there was a chance with you, I probably would have gone to you instead of to her when Sam fell into The Cage._

_I_ **_don’t_ ** _want to come back to you, now. It’s been too long; you were too dismissive, which fed into my insecurities; you never believed in me; and you never trusted me. In short,_ **_you weren’t good for me_ ** _, though I couldn’t see it at the time, and now I’m with Cas, who_ **_is_ ** _good for me, and the compare and contrast is unbelievable._

_With you, I think I mistook really good sex and lust for love._ **_Real love isn’t possible without trust_ ** _._

**_Cas trusts me_ ** _, and_ **_I trust him_ ** _. Cas_ **_believes_ ** _me when I tell him things. Cas believes_ **_in_ ** _me. Cas_ **_loves_ ** _me._

**_I’m in love with Cas, and Cas is in love with me_ ** _._

_You never were._

_I loved you, Cassie._

**_I’m over it_ ** _._

_Goodbye,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Donna,_

_The last time I saw you, I came down on you, kind of hard. I know that I already apologized, and I know that you’re perfectly willing to accept me, and to love me as a friend and family member, just as the person that I have been. I love that about you, Donna, that you are so open, and giving, and willing to love._

_The problem, though, is that_ **_I’m not willing to be that person any more_ ** _. I am an alcoholic, and I have long suffered from very low self-esteem and anxiety. I have had an extremely bad self-image, and a tendency to believe that no matter how much I give to others, I have no right to receive anything back from them. I have been in denial about these traits for a very long time. It took nearly losing the person I care about most in the world, and Sam laying down the law, for me to admit that I needed help, and to finally seek it, but I am in therapy, now._

_I thought about explaining my past to you; you deserve to know the whole story. But honestly, at this point, it just doesn’t matter. The past is in the past, and I don’t feel like dragging it out again and again and again._ **_If you ever feel you need to know something, ask, and I promise that I will tell you_ ** _. It’s not that I want to_ **_hide_ ** _anything from you. It’s more that I’m finally feeling free of it, and thinking about dredging it up to write about it now makes me feel vaguely nauseous._

_So, for now, I will just say_ **_this_ ** _– I’ve been through a lot of crap that wasn’t my fault; I did a lot of things that I thought were right at the time, but turned out to be awful later; and then I did some things that were bad, knowing full well they were awful when I did them. And the sum total of all of those experiences left me feeling like_ **_I didn’t deserve to be loved_ ** _._

_What changed my mind?_ **_Cas_ ** _. I think I’ve been in love with him since we met, but I never had the nerve to tell him. I didn’t believe that I deserved him, fully believed that he would reject me. I didn’t understand that he was dealing with his own insecurities, and that by never telling him how I felt, I was making him believe that I thought he was unworthy of me. We’ve finally gotten past all of that, and told each other how we feel, and we’re finally together. (If your reaction to that is along the lines of, “it’s about time,” do me a favor; don’t tell me, okay? Apparently, everyone and their uncle knew how we felt about each other, except for us._ **_Hey! I can hear you giggling, woman!_ ** _)_

_Sam drew a parallel between_ **_your_ ** _tendency to accept others’ opinions of your own self-worth and_ **_my_ ** _tendency to run myself down. It’s not entirely valid, but you do concern me, sometimes. I worry that you don’t know how amazing you are; that you don’t understand that just talking to you or seeing you makes my whole day better._ **_Knowing you makes my life better_ ** _._

_You are truly beautiful, inside and out. Believe it._

_**Your soul shines, sweetheart.** _

_I love you._

_Always,_

_Dean_

_***_

_Dear Alex,_

_I’ve never been as close to you as I’ve been to Claire. That’s fine; it’s not a competition. Perhaps it’s because you’ve always seemed so… self-contained. You had no one on whom you could really rely when you were young, and once we had you safely away from Celia and your “brothers,” you certainly didn’t need_ **_me_ ** _. It didn’t take long before Jody told us that you were fitting in well at school, had a boyfriend, were in the honors program._

_You didn’t want me and Sam around to remind you of your past, and that’s your right, that’s entirely fair. Your past is your past, and you don’t need to be reminded of it. You don’t need to be_ **_ashamed_ ** _of it, either; you had no choice but to do as you did. Be proud of the fact that you survived it._

_I know that you struggled with the decision about whether or not you should hunt. I know that Jody has talked with you about whether or not that life is right for you. I know that you have hunted, and that you have potential. You could be very good at it, if you chose to do it. I don’t know if you’ve made a final decision, or not. You should know that_ **_whatever_ ** _you decide, I will always support you in your decision. If you want to hunt, I want you to know that I would be honored to help you train, if you wanted that. If you choose not to hunt, that’s good, too._

_I saw you in action at the hospital when we were there with Jody last week (not for the first time)._ **_You were impressive_ ** _, even with being run off your feet after only an hour in. It’s obvious how much you care for the kids in your charge. Perhaps that’s partly because no one cared for you, then._

_I hope you know how many people care about you, now._ **_I hope you know that I am one of them_ ** _._

_You are so strong, and you do so much good in the world, whether as a hunter, or as a nurse, or just hanging out with friends and family. You make us a stronger unit. I’m glad we found you, and that you decided to stick around._

_I know that you don’t need me to be, and don’t need me to say that I am. But I need to say it, for me:_ **_I am so proud of you_ ** _._

_I love you._

_Always,_

_Dean_

_***_

_Dear Adam,_

_It’s hard to write a letter to you. I didn’t know you very long. When I first thought I was meeting you, it wasn’t_ **_you_ ** _at all; it was a shapeshifter pretending to be you, and you were already dead. Then Team Michael brought you back, once they realized I wasn’t going to consent to Michael using me, and between when you were brought back, and when Michael possessed you and Cas hit you with the flaming grenade in Stull Cemetery, wasn’t a very long period of time, and we didn’t spend much of it getting to know one another._

_When I first learned of your existence, I was so angry with our father. First, that he had betrayed the memory of my mom; second, that he’d never told me about you; third, that you had apparently had a normal life, with your mother, in a house, where you got to go to the same school, have the same friends, and just be a kid, in a way that Sam and I were never allowed. Dad had us out on the road with him from the time I was five; Sam was just 18 months old. The ‘shifter told us that Dad would come by to see you, and took you to baseball games on your birthday. I was lucky if Dad remembered that I_ **_had_ ** _a birthday._ **_I resented you._ **

_I should have said “yes” to Michael._ **_It should have been me._ ** _It was always supposed to be_ **_me_ ** _. But having been in Hell before – in the Pit, not the Cage, but still – I couldn’t face it. I knew there was a chance that I could end up there yet again, and I couldn’t do it. I watched as Michael, wearing your body, fell after Sam, and there was nothing I could do. Cas was able to get Sam’s body out, but Death had to go back later for his soul – and Death made me choose between Sam and you. I don’t believe now that it was even a valid choice, as I know now that when Michael fell after Sam and Lucifer into the cage,_ **_you were already dead again_ ** _, killed by Cas’ grenade. But for a very long time, I felt guilty. There shouldn’t have been a choice to make, because you should never have been Michael’s vessel._ **_I was a coward_ ** _._

_The way that Dad treated you, versus the way he treated Sam and I – that’s on_ **_Dad_ ** _, not you. I’m_ **_glad_ ** _that you got to see the best side of Dad; that while he wasn’t always there, when he was, it seemed like he was actually present – sober and loving. I wish that Sam and I had always had that side of Dad, too, but the fact that we didn’t had_ **_nothing_ ** _to do with you._

_I’m sorry for how I treated you, I’m sorry that I didn’t say “yes” to Michael, and I’m sorry if I made you feel that you had to. I’m sorry the angels resurrected you, just so you could die again so soon afterward. I’m sorry that we never really had the chance to know one another, to really be brothers. From the little time we did have, you seemed like a good guy._

_I wish I could say that I loved you, but I didn’t know you long enough nor well enough for that._

_Goodbye, Adam._

_Dean_

_***_

_** Saturday evening ** _

_I’m not sure that my letter to Adam really captures the extent of my regret about that entire situation; that whole mess was so fucked up, from Adam already being dead when we first found out about him, to learning about his existence from a shapeshifter pretending to be him, to finding out that he was dead, to having to deal with Zachariah’s smug face after the angels brought Adam back to life for the express purpose of being Michael’s vessel after I refused, to him being blown up, to us not realizing he’d been killed in that explosion and thinking he was in the Cage, to believing Death when he made me choose between my brothers – and of course, I_ **_had_ ** _to choose Sam, the brother I actually knew and had spent my entire life protecting, over Adam, the brother I barely knew existed! – to learning that Adam was never actually in the Cage at all, but had been in Heaven the whole time._

_I will never understand why Dad didn’t tell us about Kate and Adam. What would have been so hard, about telling us that he’d met a nice woman and wanted to date her? That dating had led to something more, which had led to a half-brother? He told Kate about us, apparently. I just don’t get why he didn’t tell us about her. I don’t know. One more mystery about John Winchester about which I’ll never get an answer._

_**Thanks again, Dad.** _

***

_** Continuing on Saturday evening ** _

_I was startled by my own reflection in the mirror when I went to get ready for bed just now. I look younger, healthier, more alive, than I have in a very long time. Partly because Cas healed me recently, and I’ve been having fewer nightmares with him around, so I’ve been getting more rest; partly because I’ve stopped drinking. But most of it is really because, for the first time in my life, ever, that I can remember… I’m_ **_happy_ ** _._

_I spoke with Cas between writing the earlier entry and going to get ready for bed, and he offered to use his wings and fly back here, then fly back to Laramie (where he’s stopped for the night on the way back from the cabin he rented) in the morning to get his truck. And it was tempting._ **_But I didn’t need it._ ** _I am secure in how I feel about Cas to the point where I was okay with telling him to stay in Laramie and rest up. I made sure to tell him that I wasn’t saying “I don’t want you,” but rather “I do want you, at 100%, so please take care of yourself for me.”_

_For so long, I didn’t believe I’d ever get to be in a real relationship (as opposed to a one-night stand / random fling) at all, much less one that was good, much less the one that I wanted most, with Cas; now, I’m in it, and I believe in it, and I feel…_ **_light_ ** _. Like there was a weight on me that now is just gone. I feel safe. I feel loved, even with Cas being away from home. I don’t need to be with him to be_ **_with him_ ** _._

_However, we did arrange to call again after we had each gotten ready for bed, and he’ll be calling shortly, so I don’t want to get too involved with writing. I just wanted to be sure to note how I felt when I looked in the mirror. I felt good. I felt loved. I felt healthy. I felt happy._

_I want to remember that feeling. I want that feeling all the time. I want to let my anger go. I don’t want my past to rule me anymore._

**_I feel free_ ** _._

***

_** Sunday morning ** _

_I fucked up. I caught myself, and I apologized, but_ **_I fucked up_ ** _._

_On Wednesday, I had mentioned to Cas that I wanted to take him shopping, get him some new clothes; he’s basically been wearing the same suit for eleven years, and while his grace keeps it clean enough, it’s getting a little threadbare. And it wasn’t his choice in the first place; it was just what Jimmy was wearing when Cas first possessed him, and Cas just never bothered to change. But then things got busy, as they do, and I forgot all about it, and didn’t take him to the mall._

_Last night, we were on the phone, and we figured out that we were both wearing, as pjs, sweatshirts and sweatpants that used to be Sam’s, from his Stanford days, and Cas made the comment that between us, Sam was lucky to have any clothes left. And then I said, again, that I should take Cas shopping. And I realized that I hadn’t yet, and it had been days since I’d first said it, and I felt horribly_ **_guilty_ ** _suddenly, that I had delayed, that I hadn’t taken proper care of Cas, that I wasn’t being a good enough partner. And he agreed with me that he needed new clothes, and that made it worse. But instead of getting irritable with_ **_myself_ ** _, I got pissed at_ **_Cas_ ** _. And then he asked if I was all right, and I just_ **_snapped_ ** _at him. Fortunately, I heard myself, and it brought me out of it._

_But it scared me, a little. I had_ **_just finished_ ** _writing about how_ **_good_ ** _I felt, how_ **_safe_ ** _I felt, and here I was,_ **_backsliding_ ** _. Relapsing into my same old hurtful patterns. I_ **_snapped_ ** _at Cas, over something so stupid as clothing. How could I do that? How could I hurt Cas, and risk everything we’re building together, over something so_ **_idiotic_ ** _?_

_How often did I do that, before? How often did I take some little nothing problem and build it up in my head into something huge, and then snipe at Cas about it? How often did I blame Cas for things that had absolutely nothing to do with him?_ **_Jesus wept, I did it all the fucking time! That’s why he left in the first fucking place!_ **

_Dammit._

_I caught it. I apologized. We started our conversation over, and it was good. But I hate realizing how close I came to screwing this up._

_This morning, I woke up, and something felt off, and I couldn’t quite place it. I wasn’t hungover; I hadn’t had a drink in a week. I needed caffeine, of course; but that was just mornings in general. I wasn’t feeling the usual morning pain in my joints because Cas had healed me too recently –_ **_Cas_ ** _. That was what was off about this morning._ **_Cas wasn’t here_ ** _._

_I laughed at myself. Eleven years of refusing to even contemplate being with the guy, and only a week after we finally admitted to being in love with each other, waking up without him_ **_already feels wrong?_ ** _I heard a tiny voice in my head telling me that I was being ridiculous and sappy. And then I heard another tiny voice saying that I was, but I already told Cas that I_ **_like_ ** _sappy. I might never admit it to anyone else, but I_ **_do_ ** _, and if I wanna be sappy in my own head on a Sunday morning alone in bed, then, dammit,_ **_I will_ ** _. And then, I thought, “And now I’m talking to myself. Great. Well, if I’m going to argue with myself, I should do it in writing.”_

_**And I figured I’d put that in verbatim, because it’ll make you laugh, Mia. Go ahead. I know you want to.** _

_But again, I’m_ **_scared_ ** _. If waking up alone feels wrong after a week of being with Cas, how on earth could I have risked screwing things up so badly just the night before? What if I fuck up again, worse, later? In a year or two years from now, when we’ve been together,_ **_really together_ ** _, for a while, and I’ve really gotten_ **_used to it_ ** _, if I go off and do something stupid and lose him, I think I’d die. And I’m not being at all hyperbolic, I’m stating fact._

_I don’t know what to do, Mia._ **_I cannot lose Cas._ ** _And that fucking_ **_terrifies_ ** _me. Because I know what a coward I am, and I know my tendency to push. The single biggest reason why I might lose Cas is that I will push him away, hurt him, do something entirely fucking_ **_stupid_ ** _. And if he goes again, there is no reason on earth why he would come back again;_ **_if I lose him again, it’s forever_ ** _._

_He’s supposed to call any minute. I’m afraid to talk to him. I’m afraid_ **_not_ ** _to talk to him._

_I can’t breathe._

_**I can’t.** _

_** No ** _ _**.** _

***


	6. Dean's Homework Following Session #3, Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This gets us up to Monday evening, the day before the next session with Mia.

**_ Sunday, late afternoon _ **

_I had a full-blown panic attack this morning, and Cas had to abandon his stuff in Nebraska to fly back to take care of me. Gabe went to get the truck, and got stuck in a huge mess of a traffic jam, so he’s not here, and Sam is sure taking Gabe’s absence better than I took Cas’. Not really fair to compare the two, but I’m just so pissed at myself. But I’m **not** going to go into another shame-spiral._

_Cas is here, asleep in my bed (he’s worn out, poor guy). He took care of me during and after the panic attack. I’m going to take care of **him** , now. First comes letting him sleep. Then snuggles, because my angel is a snuggly guy. Then dinner. Then we’ll see. For now, he’s here, and I can breathe, and that’s enough._

_So, while he’s sleeping – more letters to write._

_***_

_Dear Donatello,_

_I’m so sorry. I was the one who had to tell you that you were a Prophet after you got hit by lightning; I was ultimately responsible for Amara being freed, and she was the one who took your soul, trying to find me; I was the one who asked you to try to read the demon tablet; I pushed Cas so hard that he left you brain dead accidentally (he still feels awful about that, by the way); I was the one who took you off life support as a test (you held on without it); I was the one who brought soulless Jack to see you; I sent Cas to get you when we thought the demon tablet might have a way to kill God; and I was the one who asked you to watch for power surges indicative of Michael using his powers. I gave you your first beer. So yeah, I guess I kinda wrecked your life._

_You’re a good guy, Don. You deserved better. I just don’t think there’s anyway that I could have done any of that any differently. I had, and have, no malice toward you. I like you. You got hurt because of forces in the universe bigger than either or both of us. So, I’m not saying I’m sorry because I’m to **blame** , exactly; more like I feel for you. I empathize with you. I feel your pain, Don._

_You’ve always done your best to try to help me, and Sam and Cas, always been there when he needed you or asked you to help. So, thanks, Don._

_You’re a good guy._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Rufus,_

_Thank you for helping Bobby with Karen; if he’d been alone, he might have broken. If he’d broken, he might not have been there when Sam and I needed him. But you helped, so he wasn’t alone, he didn’t break, and he was always there for us._

_You helped me with information on Bela Talbot; that was the first time you and I met. Bobby sent me to see you, told me to take you a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue. I should’ve taken you the Gold, man._

_You helped us with figuring out how many seals were being broken, and which ones. Not that we were really keeping up, but it helped._

_You gave Bobby the information on Gavin MacLeod needed to make it possible to deal with Crowley._

_You helped us, man, time and again. You were a testy old son of a bitch, but you were a good man, and a good hunter._

_I miss you, Rufus._

_Wish you were here._

_Always,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Bela,_

_There was a lot of shit that went down between us. Ultimately, we both met the same untimely end; I was just important enough to Heaven that I was given a ticket out of the Pit. You weren’t. I’m sorry about that._

_If I’d known back then, when you were moving in our orbit and stealing from us, what I learned in Hell about why you made your deal, I would’ve tried to help you before the hellhounds got you, I swear. I’m sorry that I didn’t know that your father abused you. I’m sorry I made that crack about how your parents must not have hugged you enough. I was a horrible arrogant bastard to you, Bels, and I’m sorry for it. You didn’t deserve it. But remember, I didn’t know that, then._

**_Then_ ** _, I just thought you were one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. You had class, polish. And that accent, sweetheart, ooh. If you had ever once tried to be nice, we could’ve had ourselves a time, Bels. I know now why you never tried to be nice. So I’m sorry for that, too._

_I miss your wit. I miss your laugh. I wish you weren’t dead._

_Goodbye, Bela._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Amelia:_

_You didn’t know me well; I believe we met just twice. First, when Jimmy came back to you (after Castiel was thrown out of his body in battle) and Sam and I had to save you and Claire; you might not remember much of that fight, as you were possessed by a demon during most of it. Then Castiel returned to Jimmy’s body, when Jimmy begged him to take him, instead of Claire. Then second, we met in Tulsa, just before you died, when we rescued you from the Grigori that had been feeding on you; Jimmy was already gone by then, but Cas kept getting resurrected in his body; he’s taken it as his own forever, now._

_I’m sorry that Cas needed Jimmy to be his vessel, and I’m sorry that you were hurt as a result. Cas originally needed Jimmy in order to communicate with me after he rescued me from Hell, and then he just kept using his body, kind of from habit. He meant no harm to come to Jimmy, you, or Claire; you have to know that. Cas is loyal to a fault._

_I’m in love with Cas now, Amelia. We’re finally together, and happy. So, thank you to you and to Jimmy, who gave up so much, so that Cas and I could eventually be together. I’m sorry you had pain from it, but at least we know that you and Jimmy are together and happy in Heaven, now._

_Please know that Claire is safe, happy, and wonderful. Cas has tried to be a surrogate father to her. I’ve tried to be a big brother; I haven’t always been successful, but I love her, and won’t make the same mistakes again. We’ve kept her safe, along with Jody Mills, her foster mother. She has a family, Amelia. She’s loved._

_I’m sorry. I wish I had better words for that; you deserve them._

_Thank you._

_Always,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Jimmy,_

_I only met you just twice when Castiel wasn’t in you, and you were yourself. First, when Cas was thrown out of you during a battle, and Sam and I tried to keep you under wraps, but you snuck out and returned to Amelia and Claire, even though we told you it was dangerous for them. I don’t blame you a bit, man; they were your family, and you’d been away a long time, and to be fair, Cas had been riding your body pretty hard for a while there. I know that he was in control, but that he let you be as aware as you wished to be. Just so you know, I’ve been possessed by an angel, and that isn’t typical of them; you were lucky to have Cas, despite what you might think._

_Second, when the demons attacked Claire, one possessing Amelia, and Sam, Cas, and I had to save all three of you. You were going to die, but you knew Cas could heal you, so you begged him to take you back as his vessel, rather than letting you die and go on to Heaven, with him keeping Claire. You wanted her to live her life._

_I want to tell you that she has._

_She has family, and love, and she’s so grown up and strong. She’s wonderful, Jimmy; you and Amelia would be so proud. Cas has tried to be like a father to her, without trying to usurp your place. For a long time, she didn’t want to let him in – she looked at him, and all she could see was ‘not-dad’. But eventually, she learned to appreciate Cas._

_I am in love with Cas, and he with me, and we are finally together. So, I want to thank you, Jimmy, because without you to give Cas a human voice, I would never have been able to understand him when he tried to communicate with me, and we wouldn’t be together now. I owe you, man. So, so much._

_Thank you._

_Always,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Amelia,_

_We’ve never met, and Sam’s told me almost nothing about you, beyond your name. What I do know, I know from having basically stalked you on the internet. Sorry, not sorry. I’m gone for a year, I get back, and find out that my brother’s put his whole life aside to essentially shack up with someone, I’m looking into that person._

_But what I found reassured me. Smart, gentle, veterinarian. You were on the run from your messed-up life every bit as much as poor Sammy was, when he found you. You were a military wife who thought her husband had been killed in action, body unrecoverable. You fled, not able to bear the pain, and ended up in a little vet clinic by the side of the road in a one-road town in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t out to try to seduce a hunter, you weren’t trying to lure Sammy to his death. You were just trying to figure out your own mess of a life, and then Sam brought in a dog he’d accidentally hit with his car, and the two of you just connected. It just happened. Sometimes, things really do just happen._

_You made Sam happy. You gave him peace. I know he misses you. I know he still looks you up on the internet, but never contacts you. He forgets to erase his browsing history. He doesn’t contact you because he knows you’re trying to make it work with your husband, who wasn’t dead after all, and he honors that choice. But you should never doubt that Sammy loves you. Present tense. I think he probably always will. He’ll move on, eventually._

_Sammy always wanted a dog, growing up. He left Riot with you, knowing you’d take good care of him. That alone should show you how much Sam trusts you. **He trusts you with his dog, Amelia.**_

_I wish I’d had a chance to get to know you. I think you were good for Sam at a time when I couldn’t be there for him. That alone makes me love you._

_Thank you, Amelia._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Becky,_

_I don’t know you very well. I’m not entirely sure I’d want to. You’ve been a little bit scary, sometimes. A little obsessive, a little overly possessive of Sam, a little too oddly reticent of admitting to having been dating Chuck. But I will say this, Becky – it was a little bit flattering to know that there was someone out there who, having read all those books, knew all of our flaws, and yet still wanted to know us, hang out with us, and, in Sam’s case, at least, love us. Creepy, but flattering. And although it was frightening when you put Sam under a love potion/spell, and tied him down to your bed, having married him under false pretenses – at the same time, it was good for Sam’s ego. Except that it wasn’t real._

_It couldn’t have been real, because while you’d read about Sam, you didn’t know the real Sam. The books don’t really cover everything, just a lot of things. But it’s the small details the books miss that make Sam who he is. And you didn’t know those details, so you didn’t really know Sam._

_I do see how you could be sweet, if you let yourself relax. And, since Sam doesn’t remember to erase his browser history, so I know what he researches, I know he’s researched you, and stayed friends with you on Facebook, which means that he does have at least a small soft spot for you._

_I also know, from Sam’s browser history, that you’ve moved on, gotten married, and have two kids now. Good for you. I mean that. I harbor you no ill will. Sam escaped unscathed, and willing to be friendly, so I am, too._

_Thank you for letting Sam go, Becky. Thank you for moving on, and finding something real. I hope it makes you happy._

_Oh, and by the way, Becky: **yes, Destiel is real**. _

_You’re welcome._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Gabriel:_

_You probably don’t want to know this, but I gave Sammy some advice a couple of days ago. You’ll probably find it a bit ironic, coming from me._

_He told me that he thought he had messed things up with you, that he’d told you he didn’t want to see you taking risks, couldn’t stand to watch you die again, for him, and that you’d told him to invest in blindfolds. (By the way: clever turn of phrase; shit thing to say to my brother; don’t do it again; I know where you sleep.) I asked Sam if there was no upcoming danger, if the two of you were just going to be comfortably ensconced in the library with translations and research work, would he want there to be something between the two of you? He said he couldn’t take danger out of the equation, because of Chuck, but that he knew you could take care of yourself; his problem was that you thought you had to sacrifice yourself to save him. Ah, the fabulous Winchester self-esteem._

_So, this is what I told him:_

_“You think Cas wouldn’t sacrifice himself to save you, or me, Sam? You think I wouldn’t sacrifice myself for you? Hell, I have sacrificed myself for you, Sam. Jack would, too. And you’d sacrifice yourself for any of us, too. Sam, during the Trials, you were willing to sacrifice yourself for strangers! Putting yourself on the line for people you love is part of loving people, Sam. You’re not being fair to Gabe if you’re gonna let his willingness to die for you – which you’d reciprocate in a heartbeat, Bitch – stand in the way of you guys being together, if that’s the only thing that’s stopping you. Now, if you’re not attracted to Gabe, if you don’t care about him, that’s one thing. But if you love him, or think you could – then Sam, what the fuck are you waiting for? Don’t do what I did with Cas. Don’t let eleven years go by before you tell him how you feel. Don’t make me have to say, ‘it’s about time,’ back to you, little brother. Get your shit together, figure out what you want and how you feel, and then tell Gabe. And if you are going to let him down, let him down easy, Sam. Gabe’s family.”_

_And you are. Not just because you so recently welcomed me to your family, because of Cas, but because Sam and I care about you. For a long time, before I could admit how I felt about him, I considered Cas my other brother. Cas no longer holds that position for me, obviously, but you do. Just as Cas does for Sam. Even if neither of us were with either of you or Cas romantically, we’d still love both of you, and you’d still be our family. Because our motto is, and has long been, that family don’t end in blood. Friends are the family you choose._

_Now, I think that, since I gave Sam that unintentionally ironic advice, he’s gotten his head out of his ass, and talked to you. But he hasn’t reported back to me about it yet, so I don’t know how that discussion went._

_But it doesn’t matter how it went, Gabe. You’re family. No matter what, you have a place, a home, here, always._

_Even if you did kill me over 120 times. And no, you’ll never ever hear the end of that._

_I love you anyway._

_Always,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Crowley,_

_Thank you. You started out in a position very adversarial to me and Sam, but at the end, you gave your life for ours. In between, you helped us so many times, in so many ways. Yeah, you fucked us a few times, too, but it was your job, you were the King of Hell; I can’t really hold it against you._

_Even when I had the Mark, I really do believe that you tried your best to help me. You served your own interests at the same time, of course – but you did help me. When I died and came back as a demon, you helped me make that transition, and it could have gone down a lot worse for me if you hadn’t._

_I’m sorry we had to send Gavin back to die. I think you had very few opportunities for love in a very long existence, and we took that one away from you. He had to go back, but I’m sorry that it hurt you._

_You’d be proud of Rowena. Your mom saved us all, dude. She knew it was supposed to be Sam that killed her, and she knew she had to die to save us, so she forced him to do it in the manner and the time of her choosing. She was very brave, Fergus._

_Almost as brave as you, man._

_Thank you._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Rowena,_

_Thank you. You saved us all, darlin’. You were so brave. It was too soon for you to go, and I actually miss you, Ro. Bet you never thought you’d hear me say that, now, did you?_

_I think Sam’s maybe finally starting to forgive himself for having to kill you. It helps that he knows that you meant it, it was your choice, you wanted it, and you wanted it to be him to do it. But oh, I know he misses you, Red._

_We got Jack back. And Gabriel. And Cas and I are finally together (and yes, I know, you’re another one saying ‘its about time’ – hush), and happy._

_I really hope that you were right and that your sacrifice was worth it._

_Thanks again,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Kevin,_

_I am so sorry, man. I hope you’re managing to keep yourself together, wherever you wandered off to after we discovered you couldn’t go to Heaven._ [Interrupted and restarted later.]

***

**_ Monday afternoon _ ** _._

**_Dammit_ ** _. I thought of something this morning, in the middle of writing my letter to Kevin – which I have to remember to go back and finish – and realized it could be important, so I went to tell Cas. I couldn’t even see him immediately – which was fine, he was busy, I’m not the only person who needs his attention, I get it, and I didn’t mind waiting – but even when he and I **did** talk, I got the impression that he was only barely listening to me, his focus on something else completely. He didn’t seem to take me seriously, and at the end of our conversation, he announced his intention to go up to Heaven tomorrow for research, during my session with Mia – like he was specifically planning on being away from me only when I could be treated by a medical professional. I know I just had a panic attack, but I’m over it, and it really struck me as condescending on his part. Like, “oh, now Dean has to be handed with kid gloves, because if I’m not around, he might break.” Forgive me for having had a short relapse into self-loathing, when that’s been my default attitude about myself for, **oh, 40 years now**. Three short weeks of progress isn’t about to undo a lifetime of crap. I get that I need to change, but any change takes time, and I think I’m doing fairly well, considering! One panic attack doesn’t make me incapable of reason, ffs._

_And when I asked Cas what he was researching, he basically said that God had promised Michael that Michael would rule heaven when God retired, but at some point, God had promised the same thing to Lucifer. Neither panned out – when God left Heaven, he didn’t retire officially, he just snuck out and left Michael in charge on a de facto basis. But Cas believes that God never intended to be Heaven’s sole ruler forever, it’s just that he had particular character traits in mind for his successor. Cas thinks he knows what those traits were, but he wants to look at Heaven’s records to be sure._

_It almost made it sound like Cas was thinking about trying to become God **himself** , again, like when he ate all of Purgatory’s souls and went a little mad with power. I really hope that’s **not** his thinking, because, much as I love Cas, when he thought he was God, he was a **dick** , and I really can’t support him in going back to that. It’s one thing for Cas to be technically in charge of Heaven because the angels powering it are loyal to him – the power goes to **Heaven** , not to Cas. But when Cas has the power, he goes nuts. He can’t handle it._

_On the one hand, I appreciate that Cas let me know what his plans were. He was being considerate, even offered to pass messages on to our folks in Heaven, if Sam or I had something we want them to know. He didn’t just go off on his own without saying where he was going or what he was doing, and that’s progress for him. On the other hand, he doesn’t need to be utterly dismissive of my ideas._

_And now I feel all pissed-off and angsty, and **I don’t like it**. I feel like I’m justified in being a little upset with Cas, and I get that that’s all it is – **a little upset**. But we just got together. I don’t **want** to be mad, not even a little bit. I want everything to be **good** between us. I don’t want the upcoming potential badness with Chuck to come between me and Cas, or for anything to be bad between us when we take Chuck on. We need to be **together** in our thinking on plans and strategies, and if he does things that upset me – like just dismissing what I say out of hand because I had a panic attack the other day – or I do things that upset him, even just a little, there’s going to be trouble when we try to work together, and we can’t have that, not going up against Chuck. It’s a crack in the foundation, and we have to be **solid**. (I know that Mia will say, “so, talk to Cas.” Okay, Mia, I’ll try. But if he’s not listening, I can say whatever I want, and it won’t do any good. Communication has to go **both** ways, right?)_

_Also, **apparently** , I have a light in my soul. Well, apparently, **everyone** has a light in their soul, but, apparently, mine is **flaring** brightly enough that Cas noticed it. And then he also noticed that my soul had changed color, and, apparently, that’s odd. Odder, is that Jack had a dream about his mom where he visited her in Heaven, and she told him to tell Cas that he wasn’t imagining things, and “the light is the key.” We don’t know what she meant by “the key”, but Cas is sure that she was referring to the light in my soul, and that it wasn’t just some random dream that Jack had, it actually means something. I honestly can’t imagine **what**._

_So, now Jack is taking nap after nap, trying to re-connect with his mom in his dreams, to ask her what her message meant._

_Sam and Gabriel seem to have resolved some of their issues, but Sam isn’t talking to me about it, so I really have no clue what, if anything, they’re actually doing. For the moment, I'm assuming they're together._

_Sam hired a guy to do the clerical work that just piles up with no one to handle it. His name is Shann, I guess. He seems okay; I haven’t had much to do with him yet, just had some pizza on Friday with the whole group and he was there for that, and then Cas and Jack and I went for a drive, so we dropped him off at his place (Sam had picked him up, our place is hard to find). Sam seems pleased with his work, so that’s good. I guess Sam let him know who Gabe really is, because Shann picked up on the fact that one of the colleges that Gabe attended has been closed for over 120 years, making Gabe over 140 years old (which, of course, he is). I don’t know if he also told him about Cas, or not._

_( **Question for Mia** : I feel like my “regular” journal entries this week have been about current events, what’s going on now, and not about my past; but most of my letters to people are to people from my past, most of whom are dead or otherwise not someone to whom I could actually send a letter. Is that okay? If the cause of my anger issues and alcoholism, and whatever else is wrong with me, is in my past, shouldn’t I be more focused on the past, than on the present? Or should I continue to write about **both?** Or are you going to give me more specific “homework assignments”? Because this week, you said to write what I felt, and that you thought letters were a good idea. I’m not saying it isn’t helping, because I think it might be. I’m just wondering what direction we’re going to be heading in next.)_

_Okay, back to letters. I’m restarting the letter to Kevin, and then I’ll go from there._

***

_Dear Kevin,_

_I am so sorry, man. I hope you’re managing to keep yourself together, wherever you wandered off to after we discovered you couldn’t go to Heaven._

_I know there were times when you hated me. I understand. I get it, man, I do. I had no choice but to put you under tremendous pressure, and you never hesitated to tell me how little you liked it, but you did the work anyway. I know I got cranky and demanding – a lot – but dude, you far exceeded my expectations, every time. You got us the answers we needed to do what we needed done. Sometimes it took you longer than I (unreasonably) wanted it to, but you were the only person on the planet who could have gotten us the answers at all, then, and I really do appreciate how hard you worked. I know you were frazzled, and that I didn’t help your stress level. I’m sorry for that, too._

_You were a good guy, who got a bad deal. Cas is currently in command of Heaven, but not able (yet) to change God’s rules for admission. He’s working on finding a way, and so are a lot of other people, myself included, Kev. We’re going to take Chuck down, and when we do, I’ll make sure that whoever ends up in charge makes it so you can go on up. **You deserve it.**_

_I miss you, Kevin._

_Hang in there._

_Dean_

***

_Ruby:_

_You’re not ‘dear’ to me, and I’m not going to pretend._

_You were a scheming demon whore who took advantage of my brother to further your own aims. You took advantage of my time in Hell – my absence from Sam’s life – to get your hooks into him. You fed him your own and other demons’ blood to get him hooked, and you fucked him while he drank it to make it more palatable. You turned him into an addict, and he nearly died from the withdrawal he had to endure to get off the sauce. You lied to Sam, you misled him, and you pretended to care about him, when really, all you ever actually cared about was freeing Lucifer from the Cage._

_You were an utter bitch, and I do not regret for one second that I killed your skanky ass. I’d do it again, if I could. I’m glad you’re in The Empty._

_Fuck you._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Meg,_

_I didn’t like you very often, nor very much. We started out as adversaries, and in the beginning, I would have cheerfully ganked you any day of the week._

_But you took care of Cas for nearly a year when he lost it, and you did a really good job at that. You helped us bring down Dick Roman and the rest of the Leviathans. You resisted Crowley’s torture, holding out on him for a year without giving him the information he wanted, passing it to us, instead, when we were able to rescue you from him. And then, you held him off long enough for us to escape with the Angel Tablet before he killed you, giving your life for us. I’m sorry it came to that._

_I think you retained more of your humanity than most stripped-down demons do. I know you told me, once, that you could still remember being human. You claimed it was all self-interest, knowing where your allegiances lied, but I think it was more than that. I think you still had the ability to **love** , Meg. **I think you truly loved Cas**._

_You once made a snarky remark to me about how Cas was my boyfriend first. Back then, I denied it, but even then, **yes, I loved him**. You could pick up on it because you felt the same way. How could I possibly still hate you, knowing that you loved Cas? I could be jealous of the time you had with him, I suppose, but that would be a waste of energy, and why bother? Cas and I are finally together, and happy, so, in the end, he’s with me, and you’re gone. I don’t say that to be petty, though it sounds it. It’s just stating fact. I could have had that time, had I just not been too insecure to admit my feelings for him. Doesn’t matter, now._

_I don’t hate you. You redeemed yourself, and by the time Crowley killed you, I was starting to **like** you. Given time, I think you could have become a part of our family of friends. **I wish you’d had that time.**_

_Goodbye, Meg._

_Thank you for taking such good care of Cas._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Anna,_

_You were the first angel who told me that it wasn’t my fault that I had tortured other souls in Hell. You told me to forgive myself. That was almost eleven years ago, and I **really** wish that I had listened. Maybe if I had, I could have avoided a lot of the angst and anger I’ve gone through since then. I still believe that my acceptance of Alastair’s deal is my responsibility to bear, as it was my choice. No one else seems to agree with me, though._

_Sometimes I miss you, still. You were very sweet to me at a time when I felt very alone, so soon after returning from Hell. I didn’t know Cas very well yet, then; Sam was off with Ruby half the time; and while I didn’t have much time with you, you were kind to me; sweet, loving and good._

_I’ll never forget that night in the Impala with you. You were so beautiful, and you had so much compassion. I would have gone back to Hell for you, but when Uriel threatened Sam, I had no choice but to reveal our location. I was glad you forgave me, even more glad that you got your grace back from Uriel, who had stolen it from its landing site._

_We couldn’t prevent Lucifer from being freed from the Cage, but we did stop the Apocalypse. You never needed to kill Sam, Anna. Sam agreed to be Lucifer’s vessel, yes, but then Sam got control back, and fell into the Cage with Lucifer trapped. We got Sam out, later. I know you regretted trying to kill Sam, and that you only did what you thought was necessary._

_Castiel was so reluctant to follow in your footsteps and embrace free will. He has, though, and how. We’re together, now, finally. I think you’d be surprised and pleased, maybe even proud, that he’s unbent so far, and come to embrace his own humanity so much. I think you’d be happy for us._

_I should ask Cas if you were one of the angels The Cosmic Entity revived as loyal to him; I hadn’t thought of that until just now. It would be nice to see your lovely face again. I’d like to think that we could be friends._

_Thank you for starting Cas down the road to accepting his humanity. Without that, we would not be together now._

_Cas makes me happy, and I owe that, in part, to you._

_Thank you,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Balthazar,_

_Remember that time you told me that I had mistaken you “for that other angel, the one in the dirty trench coat who’s in love with you”? Yeah. **You were right.** Cas was, and is, in love with me, and I’m in love with him. So, thanks, man._

_Really didn’t appreciate you agreeing to help Sam in his attempt to reject his soul. **Really** didn’t appreciate you forcing us into an alternate reality where we had to pretend to be actors playing ourselves in a television show, but at least you were working with Cas. **Really** didn’t appreciate you going back and keeping the Titanic from sinking **just because you didn’t like Celine Dion’s singing** , but at least you fixed it._

_You helped Sam and I when we needed to find Lisa and Ben. You helped us again when Cas and Crowley were working together, telling us the location of their hideout. Sadly, Cas killed you for that. I know he regrets it, though; he told me the other day that you are one of three angels that he would trust to run Heaven in his absence – he said that although he’d put Hannah in charge of the effort to power Heaven back up, “either Inias or Balthazar could handle that responsibility just as well.” He told me just today that he wants to consult with you tomorrow, assuming he goes upstairs for a bit to do some research._

_So, that means that you’re one of the angels that The Cosmic Entity brought back, and that means that you really are loyal to Cas. So, thank you for that, too, man. It’s nice to know for sure where you really stand._

_It’d be good to see you again. When it’s not directed at me, your cutting wit is kinda fun. Unfortunately, it’s usually directed at me. But I can put up with it, because I think it’d be good for Cas to have you back as his friend. He can relate to you, and that’s good. He needs friends, Balth. Please continue to be one to him._

_Thanks,_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Benny:_

_I miss you, brother. You saved me, in Purgatory. I got you out, and brought you back, but you got us to the rift, man. Without you, I’d still be there. I didn’t know the rift existed; you did, and you led me to it, and helped me slash my way through the darn place to get there. You even helped me find Cas, though he didn’t come out with us through the rift, as I’d hoped. I’m finally together with Cas, Benny. I think you’d be pleased._

_You saved Sam, too. When I told you my plan to get him out of Purgatory, after Ajay was killed and couldn’t go to get him, you didn’t hesitate. You just laid down your life and let me kill you, to save my brother. And when Sam could have done what I did – bring you out through the rift with him – you refused to go. You stayed behind to kill the vamps that had intended to attack him. I don’t know what happened to you after that, man._

_I hope you’re all right, brother. I reburied your body, instead of burning it, just in case._

_I love you, man._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Cain,_

_I hope you are finally at rest, brother. You deserve it. I didn’t bear the Mark as long as you, and I don’t know **how** you resisted it for so damn long, man. Even with the love of your Collette, who I imagine must have been **amazing**._

_Your reputation as the “Father of Murder” angers me. You saved your brother from an eternity as Lucifer’s pet; you had to kill him and go willingly into Lucifer’s service to do so. You went in with your eyes wide open, and I can relate, man. I’d have done the same for Sammy. Hell, I did **almost** the same thing – I made a deal and went to Hell for 40 years in order to save Sam’s life. I couldn’t save him from choosing to agree to be Lucifer’s vessel, but he ended up being strong enough to trap Lucifer and put him back into the Cage. I think you’d understand how proud I was of him when he regained that control._

_I’m free of the Mark, now. So is Lucifer. Amara told Cas that she removed it from you, as well, and destroyed it. I wonder if, in your slumber in The Empty, you know that you are free of its influence, finally. I hope so. I hope that you are at peace._

_I’m sure that your Collette is in Heaven. We’ll let her know that the Mark is gone. And maybe we can find a way to get the two of you together, so you can both finally be happy. We’ll work on it._

_You deserve to have all the good things that you gave up to save Abel. I would like to see you get them._

_For now, just rest, brother._

_Dean_

***

_Dear Collette:_

_You don't know me, but I knew Cain. I wanted to try to let you know that the Mark has been destroyed, and torments him no longer. He is now at peace, sleeping in The Empty, where all angels and demons go when they die._

_There is a group of entities who are trying to find a way to change the rules of Heaven. If we succeed, it would let him be with you there. It may not be possible, so please, don't get your hopes up._

_But you deserve to know that more than 150 years after your death, he still thought of you every day, and spoke of you gently and with love. I envy him for having something so true and deep._

_I respect you for looking past the Mark and the demon, to see the good man beneath. Thank you for that._

_Regards,_

_Dean Winchester_

***

_Zachariah:_

_You’re another entity who is not “dear” to me. You were a petty, manipulative, utter bastard, and I’m not sorry I drove an angel blade up through your chin and into your brain. **I’d do it again in a fucking heartbeat**._

_You took away all of my own memories and replaced them with fake ones of the life of “Dean Smith,” a character you created in order to try to prove to me that I was always meant to be a hunter. Did you get that idea from Alastair, you son of a bitch? Yeah, you weren’t exactly original._

**_Chuck once told me that you threatened him with resurrection if he tried to commit suicide_ ** _. I wonder if you even realize how ironic that is, given that Chuck isn’t just the prophet you thought him, but, in fact, **is your Boss**. And I don’t mean **Michael**._

_By the way, you dipshit, you were **completely** wrong about the outcome of the Apocalypse. I know. I’ve been to a world in an alternate universe where it happened – you were right about Michael winning, yes, but you were completely wrong about it being any kind of a paradise._

_You gave me stage four stomach cancer and ripped out Sam’s lungs. You sent me to a false future, where: Lucifer had won, was still wearing Sam as a meat suit, and had killed me; Cas was a human, having lost his grace, and was a drug addict having daily orgies to deal with the pain of human existence; the Croatoan virus had largely depopulated the Earth and people had to scrounge for supplies; and Chuck told me to “hoard toilet paper.”_

_You resurrected my half-brother, Adam, and told him that if he agreed to be Michael’s vessel, since I wasn’t cooperating, he’d get to see his mother, Kate, again; that was a lie on which you never intended to make good. I know that because at one point when you were still trying to convince me to say “yes,” you called Adam nothing but a “clammy strip of bait” that he used to try to get me to agree._

_You then made both Sam and Adam cough up blood, so I told you that I would agree, but with conditions. I said that the first condition was that I had people I wanted kept protected; you told me to make a list, and acted bored. I said that my second condition was that Michael would have to agree to have you destroyed. You didn’t think Michael would kill you; you didn’t realize that **I would. I did. Sorry, not sorry**._

_You were a complete piece of **shit** , Zach._

_Good riddance._

_Dean_

***


	7. Dean's Fourth Session With Mia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's therapy session with Mia.

“Hello, Dean. Come in, please,” Mia Vallens stepped back to allow Dean to enter her office. He stepped in, and she closed the door, then gestured with her hand. “Please, have a seat.”

Dean handed her his journal, then sat down on the couch.

“So, Dean, how was this week?”

“Busy. I feel like I made progress, for the most part.”

“For the most part? What about the rest?” Mia asked.

“I had a panic attack. It was pretty severe.”

Mia nodded. “I assume you wrote about that.”

“I did. I did a journal entry every day, and I wrote a bunch of letters. I don’t think I want to send most of them. I can’t send some of them. But Cas went up to Heaven today, so I’m having him deliver copies of three of them.”

“Wait… Cas _died_?” Mia looked horrified.

“ _No!_ No. No. There’s a gate, angels can pass through it whenever they want, as long as it’s open. Humans can’t, but angels can go back and forth. It’s not too far from here, actually; I dropped Cas off on my way here.”

“And he’ll be able to come back?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s technically in command up there, but he’s got other angels running the show when he’s not there. He wanted to check in, do a little research, talk to some other angels about stuff. He’ll be fine.”

Mia relaxed a bit. “Okay. I know Cas is important to you, so I was surprised when you seemed so nonchalant.”

“Heh. Yeah. No, really, it’s fine. He may even be back by the time I’m done here.”

“Okay. Well, let’s look at your journal, then? May I?”

“Of course.” Dean smiled.

“So, let’s see…. So you didn’t rewrite the letter to Cas, you wrote another in addition. Okay, that works. Did Cas read the letters, Dean?”

“He did. I wrote about his reaction to them in a journal entry.”

“Okay. Oh, I see Sam read his letter, too. Aww, I’m glad to see that Sam is supportive of your relationship with Cas.”

“He is, yes.”

“That’s excellent.” Mia smiled.

Mia read through Wednesday’s journal entry. “Did Sam find an assistant?”

“Yeah, he hired a guy through a temp agency. That way, we don’t have to worry about handling payroll and whatever, they invoice us and we cut them a check, and they take care of everything. The guy’s pretty cool, too; his name is Shann. I don’t have all that much to do with him, but Sam says he’s a hard worker, and they get along.”

“Good. So, have you forgiven yourself for how you acted with Claire yet, Dean? You say here that she forgave you, and moved on, but you couldn’t forgive yourself. Why not?”

“Because, I should have known better than to drink. I shouldn’t have had as much as I had, I shouldn’t have had any. I should’ve stuck to water, and I knew it. But I drank to excess, and then I said things, did things, that upset Claire, and it doesn’t matter that she forgave me, I was wrong. It was self-destructive, and caused pain to someone I love. Cas, too, because upsetting Claire upset Cas.”

“Reading the letter to Claire, I think you understand yourself pretty well, Dean. You understand why you do the things you do, why you react as you do. And honestly, that makes my job much easier. It means you can then focus on taking the steps you need to take to change your own motivations. And that’s good.”

“Knowing the _why_ doesn’t seem to make changing the _what_ any easier, to me, Mia.”

“Maybe not, Dean, but if you didn’t understand why you did the things you do, we’d have to unravel that, first. It lets us get straight to the heart of the matter. It may not seem easier to you, but I’ve watched a lot of patients struggle with the ‘ _why do I do these things?’_ puzzle, Dean. You _know_ why. You just need the tools to change and do something different.

“I like the first paragraph of your Thursday journal entry. I like that you say here that snuggling with Cas made you ' _feel better than alcohol ever has_.' That’s a good motivation to keep snuggling, and not be drinking, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t had a drink since that night at Jody’s, and I’m not missing it. I know I _could_ relapse, Mia, and I’m taking that seriously, but Sam cleared the Bunker of alcohol – he said if he wants a beer, he’ll just go out for one – so I’m not being tempted. I realize that means that if I do end up in a situation where I’m tempted, it might make it harder to resist, but I really want to just have it be away from me, for the time being. I’ve got other things I need to deal with first, if that makes sense.”

“It does. I like that you recognize that temptation _could_ be a bigger problem later, that means your eyes are open to it. You have a support network, Dean. Use it.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mia kept reading. “Okay, so, explain to me about this Cosmic Entity waking angels up?”

“Right. When a demon or an angel dies, it goes to a place called ‘The Empty,’ which is controlled by a being called ‘The Cosmic Entity.’ Cas has died a few times; the first few times, he was resurrected by God, but the last time, Jack called out to him and woke him in The Empty. And then Cas annoyed The Cosmic Entity so much, that it sent him back to life. Well, apparently, in our little on-going fight with God, The Cosmic Entity has decided that it’s on our side. He sent Cas a message – ‘deal with God, so I don’t have to’ – and he woke 300,000 angels who at various times have shown loyalty to Cas. Since God’s not in Heaven, and the entire contingent of angels currently in Heaven want Cas in charge, he is. But because Cas wants to be with me, he left an angel named Hannah in charge, and just brought Gabe and Jack back to Kansas.”

“Okay. Who are Gabe and Jack? I don’t believe you’ve told me about them before.”

“Oh, right. Well, Gabe is the Archangel Gabriel. He’s also the Norse God, Loki, except not really. He was _pretending_ to be Loki, with Loki’s knowledge, in order to hide out from the Heavenly host. Gabe’s Sam’s guardian angel, and, as of this morning, the two of them are dating.”

“Whoa. Your brother is dating the Archangel Gabriel?”

“Well, I’m dating the Seraph in command of Heaven. Why shouldn’t Sam date an Archangel?”

“Okay. You two _do_ live interesting lives. And Jack?” Mia asked.

“Jack is a Nephilim. Half-human, half-Archangel. His Archangel DNA comes from Lucifer. But even before he was born, Jack was heavily influenced by his kind and gentle mother, Kelly, and by Cas. He rejected Lucifer, and considers Cas to be his father. And for awhile, at least, he sort of, for lack of a better way to explain it, _imprinted_ on me and Sam, and would call us ‘Dad’ as well. But now he seems to just be calling Cas ‘Dad’. Because he has a human soul as well as Archangel grace, Jack is extremely powerful, but he’s had problems in the past with his grace, and with his soul. Cas says that at the moment, both are fully charged, and he has so much energy, he practically bounces.”

Mia kept reading. “Ah, here’s where you wrote about Cas’ reaction to your letters to him.” Mia laughed, reading about the interaction between Gabe and Cas, then continued to read. “It’s good that you are supportive of Cas, in addition to allowing yourself to accept his support of you, Dean.”

“I like the way you put that, Mia. Cas has always been supportive of me, and you’re right, the difference now is that I’m allowing myself to accept it.” Dean nodded.

“So, it seems that maybe you have some issues with your sexuality, here, Dean. How do you identify yourself, as a sexual being, Dean?” Mia asked.

“Before Cas, I would have said I was _straight_ , no question. And it would have been a _big fat **lie**_. I’m _bisexual_ , and always have been. I’ve always been attracted to certain men. I just never let myself admit it. I don’t know if they’re true memories, or not, because of what Alastair did, but I remember my father as being a homophobic asshole. If those memories are correct, he’d hate that I’m in this relationship with Cas, would probably disown me because of it. Until Cas, I never met a guy that I wanted enough to risk my father’s disapproval.”

“And now?”

“And now, my father’s dead, and even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t give Cas up. For one thing, I wouldn’t give Dad the satisfaction. For another, Cas makes me happy, and my Dad never did, so screw him and his homophobia. It’s his problem, not mine. And if he disowned me over it, that’s his loss.”

“Good for you, Dean.” Mia smiled. “In your Thursday morning journal entry, you seemed to be saying that you were afraid of being intimate with Cas. Am I reading that correctly?”

“Yes. It’s this whole big thing in my head. Like, if I let him in, if we have real true intimacy, I know it’s going to be good, _amazing_ , and I’m never going to want to give it up, and _it scares the living shit out of me_ , because what if he leaves? What if we have this amazing relationship I know we can have, if we let ourselves, and I get used to it, and then he decides it’s not what he wants, and so he _goes_? It’d _kill_ me, so I try to shut it down now, while it still lacks the power to have that big of an effect on me. **_Self-sabotage, 101_**. And Cas has been so patient. He _gets_ it. He gets _me_. So, we’re trying to build up to intimacy and sex slowly.”

“Ah. The ‘one new thing’ policy. I like it. That lets you take things slowly, lets you get used to being intimate at your own pace. Very smart of Cas…. Very good, you stopped yourself from accusing Cas of keeping things from you regarding his need for sleep, you asked Gabe instead. And Gabe rewarded you, I see. Welcomed you to the family. Wow.”

“Yeah. _Seriously_. Wow. Like, Cas isn’t an Archangel, he’s younger, but Gabe thinks the world of him, says that Cas is ‘the best of us’, meaning of all the angels, who all consider themselves to be siblings. I mean, technically every angel is a brother or a sister of every other angel. But there are, for lack of a better word, cliques. The four Archangels, Gabe, Michael, Lucifer, and Raphael, they were the first created, and for a long time, it was just them, and God. And the four of them didn’t really, well, _bond_ , I guess, with many of the rest of the celestial family. But Gabe and Cas, they clicked. And Lucifer and Cas, too. Cas was Lucifer’s vessel, for awhile. So, yeah, it felt like a really big deal when Gabe said that to me.”

“I bet.” Mia kept reading. “And here’s your letter to your father. I assume _you realize_ how conflicted you are about your father, yes?”

“Oh, _definitely_. If he were standing here right now, I honestly don’t know if I’d deck him or hug him, first. I’d probably get around to doing _both_ , eventually.”

“If he _could_ come back, if you could see him again, Dean. Would you _want_ to? Would you want to hear his side, have him explain things, have him confirm the ‘true’ memories for you? Or would you rather not?” Mia asked.

“I honestly don’t know, Mia. Sometimes I think of how great it would be if he were here, in that moment. And other times, I’m glad he’s dead, because trying to live my life the way he expected me to, demanded of me, was _exhausting and painful_ , and I couldn’t keep doing it.”

Mia nodded. “And here’s your letter to Bobby. Much shorter. Do you think you said everything you needed to, Dean?”

“Yes. I did. I said everything I needed to say to Bobby while he was still alive to hear it.”

“Okay, then. That’s good. Moving on. Who’s Lisa?”

“Lisa is an ex-girlfriend. I had a one-night stand with her, a really long time ago. Nine years later, I tried to hook up with her to have another one-nighter, and I literally walked in on her son’s eighth birthday party. Kid’s like a little mini-me. Leather jacket, hard rock, likes classic cars and attractive women. Mia, I swear to you, my jaw was on the floor. I was convinced immediately that he was my kid. But Lisa denied it. Said she’d had testing done and that she’d been attracted to a ‘type’, there was a biker guy and Ben was his kid, not mine. But I’ve never really been convinced; not sure why, exactly.”

“What did she use for your DNA?” Mia inquired.

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You show up nine years after a one-night stand to an eighth birthday party and your ex tells you she’s had testing done that proves the boy’s not your kid. What did she have of you, after just a one-night stand, that had enough of your DNA to get the testing done? What did she have of this biker guy, for that matter? _How’d she get testing done without a sample from either of you?”_

“Oh. **_Christ_**. _Nothing_. She had nothing of mine. Mia, that means…. Mia, _Ben’s my kid_. Ben _is_ my son, I know he is.”

Mia nodded. “I would suspect so, Dean.”

“ ** _Shit_**. I had Cas erase their memories of me. They can’t be put back. That’s why I say in the letters to Lisa and Ben that I can’t send the letters to them – they wouldn’t know who I was, it would just confuse them.”

“You say here that your being in their lives made them unsafe. How, Dean?”

“I’m a hunter, one of the best, and one of the best known. I have _enemies_ , Mia. I never wanted to pull Lisa or Ben into the hunting life. They had a chance to stay clear of it, and I gave that to them. But it meant that I had to walk away. I can’t go back.”

Mia continued reading. “I like your letter to your mother, Dean. I’m a little confused here. You say that someone named Amara brought your mother back. Is that back from the dead? Who is Amara?”

“Amara is God’s sister. He’s the light, and she’s the darkness. He creates, she destroys. At some point, he locked her away to stop her from destroying his creations. He couldn’t kill her, and it took him and the four Archangels to manage locking her away. I, um… I kinda let her out.”

“Do I want to know, Dean?”

“It’s a long story, so probably not right now. Short version: it was a spell. She got free, I helped her to reconcile with her brother, and she wanted to reward me, so she gave me back my mother.”

“Ah hah. And where is your mother now?”

“She died again. Jack killed her. It was an accident. He’s got so much power, and really he’s only about three years old, he doesn’t always have the best judgment regarding how to use it. Mom was pestering him – she does that when she thinks someone she loves isn’t taking care of themselves; she worries, and she pesters and pokes – and he couldn’t handle it, and he told her to go away and leave him alone, and he killed her with a thought. Cas has confirmed that Mom and Dad are both in Heaven, together and happy – I think I mentioned that in my letter to Dad.”

Mia nodded again, and continued to read. “And here’s the letter to Ben. I don’t see why you couldn’t go to his graduation ceremony; if he has no memory of you, even if he saw you, he wouldn’t know you. What would it hurt?”

“Well, like I said, I have _enemies_. What if one of them was following me, and decided since they couldn’t figure out who I was there to see, _they’d just kill all of the kids?_ Things like that could happen, there’s a real potential. So, it’s safer if I just stay away.”

“Tell me about Emma, Dean.”

Dean nodded. “I met her mother, Lydia, at a bar. She was gorgeous. Little black dress, black hair, beautiful. She was trolling, and decided she wanted me. So, we went back to her place, and we had a one-night stand. I would have been up for more than that, but it was Lydia who insisted that we were done. I went back a few days later, and she had a child, a three-year-old. She insisted that I leave. I guessed that I had misread the situation, that there must be a relationship I didn’t know about; maybe it was the kid’s father, maybe it was someone else, but she didn’t want me around, so, I left. A few days later, maybe twelve days after the one-night stand with Lydia, I’m in my motel room, Sam’s gone out. This young woman, looked about fifteen, sixteen years old, maybe, comes looking for me, says she’s my daughter, Emma. Says Lydia’s her mom.

“Now, I only met Lydia _for the first time_ less than two weeks before Emma came looking, so I’m thinking Emma overheard something she wasn’t meant to hear, and misunderstood. But then she explained. Lydia was an Amazonian. A race of all-female demi-Gods, they seek out human men with whom to procreate; all it takes is a one-night stand. The child is born within hours, and within a few days, grows to adulthood. The girls are then trained to become merciless mercenary killers, and their final exam is to seek out their fathers, and kill them.

“Emma told me she didn’t like what they’d told her, she didn’t want to be what they wanted of her, and she didn’t want to kill me. But she’d brought a knife. Now, I wasn’t afraid of a knife in the hands of a less-than-two-week-old child, no matter how grown she looked to be, plus, I had a gun of my own. And every Harrison Ford fan knows….”

“ _Never bring a knife to a gun fight_.” Mia smiled.

“ _Exactly_. So, I tried to get her to put the knife down, to reason with her. Told her that I would love to get to know her properly, to be her father in truth, as well as in terms of genetic material. And I think she was listening, but she still had the knife up, and Sam came back. The door was cracked, and he saw her, thought she was threatening me. I put my gun down, trying to get her to relax, but he thought I was surrendering. He came in, and shot her. He killed her, Mia, with just one shot. His own niece. My daughter.”

“Reading the Friday evening entry, you mention ‘the Amy Pond incident’ being related to Emma’s death. Tell me about that, Dean.”

“Amy Pond was a kitsune. She was a friend of Sam’s at some point in high school; I think he may even have had a crush on her. Anyway, a few weeks before I hooked up with Lydia, Emma’s mother, Sam had reconnected with Amy on a case. She was the source of the mysterious deaths. She herself was working as a mortician, and she’d been feeding from corpses, not killing anyone, for a long time. But she had a son, and he’d been ill, and needed ‘fresh’ food. So she’d killed four people to feed him, and now he was fine, and she swore she’d kill no one else. So, Sam went along, and let her live. But when he told me about it, I basically turned into _Dad_ , said she was a monster, couldn’t be trusted, he should have killed her. And when Sam refused to go back and do the job, I did it, instead. I killed her. And when Sam killed Emma, he was protecting me, yes; but he was also taking his revenge for my having killed Amy. As I say in the journal entry, it’s the one thing we never speak to each other about, because I’m still so angry with Sam about it. Which probably means I should, huh?”

“Not if you don’t want to, Dean.”

“Huh. I was sure you’d tell me I had to talk to Sam about Emma.”

“No. I don’t think you’re _ready_ to talk to Sam about Emma, Dean. You might _never_ be ready for that. And that’s _okay_. Remember during your first session, I told you to give yourself _permission_ to be angry with your father? Give yourself permission to be angry with _Sam_ , Dean. I don’t think you have to forgive everyone for everything. You still _love_ Sam. You always will. Being _angry_ with him won’t change that. But having a confrontation over it, _might_. I think you need your relationship with Sam more than you need to have that fight. So, give yourself permission to feel the anger, and let it out, and let it go, and skip the confrontation.”

“Huh. Wow. That is not what I expected you to say, Mia, but that makes sense.”

Mia smiled softly. “If I always said what you expected, Dean, why would you need me?”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

“You say here that Lucifer wants to stop being the bad guy, now that’s he’s no longer bears the Mark of Cain; that he had it even while Cain and you had it, but now it’s gone and it’s no longer corrupting him. You had the Mark of Cain, Dean? Tell me about that.”

“Well, it’s really better called the Mark of Darkness. Originally, it was a birthmark on Amara’s shoulder. When God locked her away, he tore that section of skin off and fused the birthmark onto Lucifer’s arm, and that was the key to her holding cell. It turned Lucifer dark, corrupted him. Then Lucifer passed that mark to Cain, but couldn’t remove it from himself. When Cain died, he was immediately reborn as a demon, and Lucifer make him a Knight of Hell. Eventually, Cain passed the mark to me. I resisted for awhile, but gave in, and died, and was reborn as a demon. Sam cured me with consecrated blood, but I still bore the mark. So, we had Rowena, a witch friend of ours, cast a spell to remove it. And in so doing, we freed Amara from her prison.”

Mia kept reading. “You dreamt of Alastair. This dream sounds _horrible_ , Dean.”

“It really was. It was awful. Thank heavens for Cas, because he brought me back.”

“And you say here that Cas said he wanted to go to Wyoming to get his stuff, so he could come home to you. That’s lovely, Dean.”

Dean nodded.

“And then on Saturday morning, you write that you and Cas made love, and it was the healthiest sex you’ve ever had. I assume you mean from a mental health standpoint?”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned.

Mia continued to read. “And here’s a letter to someone named Jo. Tell me about Jo, Dean.”

“Jo was like a sister. We might have had a thing, but she saw right through me. She was tough as nails, a fighter, she could hold her own, hold her liquor, but she was also sweet and kind and gentle when appropriate. The only time I ever got to kiss her was after a Hellhound got her, right before she died. She saved me from it, and it killed her.”

“And Ellen?”

“Ellen was Jo’s mama. She ran this hunter bar, called The Roadhouse. He husband was a hunter, used to hunt with Dad sometimes. She was a little prickly sometimes, but she was warm and welcoming, and she was family.”

“And Charlie?”

“Charlie was a hacker, she helped us take down Dick Roman – you might remember him, big corporate guy, thought he might run for president at some point? – she was like a little sister to Sam and I. She died soon after I got the Mark of Cain. I used it to kill the family that killed her, the Stynes.”

“And Cassie?”

“Cassie Robinson. She was my first-ever real, long-term relationship. I thought I loved her, I really did. She was in college, and she was amazing. So, I told her the truth. I wasn’t just going around the country with Dad, working construction. We were hunters of supernatural creatures, trying to get revenge on the thing that had killed my mother. And she thought I was _insane_ , and broke up with me. And then a ghost tried to kill her father, and she needed help, so she called me.”

“I’m glad that you see now the difference between lust and affection, on the one hand, and true, real love, on the other.”

“Night and day difference, Mia. Night and fucking day.” Dean nodded.

“We talked about Donna last session. I like this letter to her. Are you planning to send this one, Dean?”

“Yeah. Donna deserves an explanation of some of my crap.”

Mia laughed. “Okay. I like your letter to Alex, too. How about this one, Dean? Sending?”

“Yeah.”

“Good…. We talked about Adam before, as well. Did this letter help you resolve your feelings about your half-brother, Dean?”

“Not really.”

Mida nodded. “Lot to take in, finding out that you had a brother you never knew until after he’d died.”

“Yeah. I really don’t even know all that much about him, even.”

Mia looked at Dean intently for a moment, nodded, and continued reading. “You say here you were startled by your own reflection because you looked better than you had in a long time, and you think it’s because you’re happy.”

“I know it is.”

Mia smiled, and kept reading, and frowned. “Oh, dear. Sunday morning.”

“Yeah. That’s the journal entry where I spiraled down again.” Dean looked uncomfortable.

Mia hooted out a laugh.

“The bit where I’m talking to myself? Yeah, I knew you’d laugh.” Dean grinned, but still looked uncomfortable.

“You say here at the end that you can’t breathe; I assume that was the start of the panic attack?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Dean. I assume that you’ve already thought of all the things that you did wrong here. I want you to tell me what you did _right_.”

Dean looked blankly at her. “I… um… honestly, I have no clue.”

Mia smiled. “Yes you do, Dean. You wrote it down, even. You said that you _caught_ it, and you _apologized_ for your behavior the night before. That was really good. Yes, you spiraled, but you didn’t spiral about _sniping at Cas_. You didn’t spiral due to the one single thing you were most concerned about when you first came to see me – your anger issues. You spiraled because you were afraid of pushing away the best thing that’s ever happened to you – _Cas_. Dean, you cannot control Cas. He’s his own person. If he decides to go, you can’t stop him from leaving, and that _terrifies_ you. He tells you he won’t go, and _intellectually_ , you believe that he means it. But _emotionally_ , you’re still that terrified four-year-old, running from a house fire with your brother in your arms, not understanding where your mother went and why she won’t come back.”

“It’s _abandonment_ issues, not _anger_ issues. I thought I had dealt with them, but I guess not.”

Mia nodded. “Your fear of abandonment is much more deeply seated than your anger, Dean. It goes back farther in your life, and it is much more foundational. And it makes perfect sense, Dean. Think about how many people you’ve lost. Your father moved you constantly. You were barely in school, got held back two years because you’d missed so much. How many _teachers_ did you have to leave, Dean? How many _friends_ did you make, and have to lose?”

Tears streamed down Dean’s face. “Christ, Mia, _everyone_. Everyone leaves. Even Sam has left, a couple of times.”

Mia nodded again. “No one has ever been allowed to be a _constant_ in your life, Dean. Every single point of contact has been taken from you, at one time or another. So, when you sniped at Cas, you were pushing him away in self-sabotage, but you caught that mistake, and owned it. But when you spiraled out of control, it was because you were afraid that _it didn’t matter if you pushed_ , you were afraid that you couldn’t _control his reaction, or the relationship_ , enough to keep him with you, and became certain that he would go. That your self-sabotage would work. It’s the lack of _control_ that you fear, Dean.

“That said, it seems you got it under control fairly quickly. By late afternoon, you were talking about taking care of Cas. Nice recovery, Dean.”

“Well, he flew back. It made worrying about losing him at some point in the vague far off future seem ridiculous.”

“Exactly. Dean, Cas has been with you, through thick and thin, for what, eleven years? I think you can count on him sticking around in the future, too.”

Mia handed Dean the box of tissues, and he mopped up his face, and blew his nose. Mia kept reading.

“Who’s Donatello, Dean?”

“He’s the current Prophet of the Lord. There’s always only one at a time. The first one I met was Chuck, then Kevin, then Donatello.”

“Are you sending this letter, Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“I like your letter to Rufus, Dean. I assume that he’s passed away?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about Bela, Dean.”

“Bela Talbot. She was hot. And I liked her, too, except she kept stealing from us and fucking us over. She was a trader of supernatural antiquities; she’d find them, find someone who wanted them, and sell them to the highest bidder. And she kept getting in the way of our cases.

“What I didn’t know then, but only found out later, when I was torturing souls in Hell, was the reason _why_ she’d become a trader. Her parents had abused her when she was a child; her father used her, horribly – sexual and other physical abuse, emotional abuse, you name it. Her mother heaped emotional abuse on her, too. So, when a crossroads demon came to Bela and offered her a way out of the situation, she took it. Her parents were killed, and it was made to look like an accident. She got the life insurance, plus her inheritance. She was given ten years. She was just thirteen when she made the deal.

“When Sammy and I met her, she was twenty-two, and she only had about nine months left, and she was desperately looking for a way to get out of her contract, to escape the Hellhound she knew would be coming for her. But she didn’t _tell_ us that. If she had, Mia, I swear, I would have tried to help her. But I didn’t know, and I didn’t try to help; in fact, I made things _worse_. I was horrible to her. She called me about ten minutes before she died, and I laughed at her, mocked her. I didn’t know! There was nothing I could do, not for her, and not for myself, when my time came.”

Mia nodded. “Tell me about Amelia and Jimmy, Dean.”

“Jimmy Novak. That’s the man whose body Cas uses now.”

“Cas’ vessel.”

“Well, he was. When Lucifer was using Sam as his vessel, Cas threw a flaming grenade at Michael in Adam’s body. It killed Adam and Michael. Then Lucifer killed Cas, and Jimmy. Then God resurrected Michael and Cas in Adam and Jimmy’s bodies, but without Adam and Jimmy – their souls went straight to Heaven. Cas has died a few times; he just keeps coming back in the same body. At this point, that body is Cas’ now. Jimmy has no further use for it, and Cas is accustomed to it. He could be in a female vessel – he was, briefly, in the body of Jimmy’s daughter, Claire – but the body he’s in just suits him.” Dean shrugged. “Jimmy’s hot. Anyway, Amelia was Jimmy’s wife – Claire’s mother. She died. We rescued her from a Grigori that had been feeding on her, but she was too weak to survive for very long; just long enough to say goodbye to Claire, really. Jimmy prayed to be used as an angel’s vessel, and Cas chose him because he needed one right around that same time – it was just after Cas rescued me from Hell, and he couldn’t communicate without a vessel. If Cas hadn’t chosen him, some other angel would have, and they wouldn’t have been as nice to Jimmy, or as good to Claire.”

“And then there’s a second letter to Amelia?”

“Different Amelia. That’s an ex-girlfriend of Sam’s. I went to Purgatory for a year – another long story – and when I came back, I found out that Sam hadn’t even looked for me. To be fair, I told him not to look for me, and he didn’t know where I’d gone, but when has a logical reason for something ever kept me from being pissy? Anyway, he accidentally hit a dog with his car. He felt horrible, so he took it to the vet clinic. Amelia Richardson was the vet on duty; her husband was MIA in Afghanistan, and was believed to be dead. She and Sam ended up having a relationship, and Sammy adopted the dog, too. He always wanted a dog, growing up, but of course, we were always on the road, he couldn’t have one. So he adopted this silly mutt, named it Riot. Then I came back. Around the same time, Amelia’s husband came back from being MIA. Sam wanted the decision to be hers, and hers alone, so he left her. She went back to her husband. Sam came back to hunting. He still loves her, he’s just got a lot of honor.” Dean took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Not sending that one.”

Mia nodded again. “Got it. And Becky?”

“Becky Rosen. I mentioned that the first prophet I met was Chuck; he writes under the pseudonym Carver Edlund.”

“Oh, the _Supernatural_ books? I love them.” Mia grinned.

“You’ve read… How many of them have you read?”

“All of them.”

Dean scrubbed his hand through his hair, and down over his face. “Mia, why do you make me tell you things when you’ve read about them already?”

“Because you tell the story from an entirely different perspective, Dean: _yours_. Chuck leaves out a lot of details, and he doesn’t always understand your motivations, or Sam’s. I don’t use the books to analyze you, Dean. I use what you tell me, and what you write, not what Chuck wrote. So, Becky?”

“Sam and I met Becky at a convention of fans of the books. We were there because of a haunting. Becky was a _superfan_. She was in love with the Sam in the books. As you noted, Chuck leaves out a lot of details, but she assumed that she knew Sam, that there was a deep connection between herself and Sam. She was a lot obsessive, and a little weird.

“Later on, Sam met Becky again, in Las Vegas. She fed him a love potion that she got from a demon who had possessed a wiccan. She used the love potion to get Sam to marry her, and take her to a cabin on honeymoon. Then she ran out of potion, and Sam started to come out of it, so she knocked him out and tied him to the bed while she tried to get more. Eventually, he got out of the situation, and the marriage – they had it annulled. Now she’s married to someone else, with two kids. Not sending that one, either.”

“Got it. Ah, and here’s a letter to Gabriel. I like the advice you gave to Sam. And for the most part I think this is sweet. But what’s this about Gabriel _killing_ you over 120 times? What’s that all about? I thought Gabriel _liked_ you? I’m confused.”

“Oh, Gabe does like me, now. And I like him. He’s great. But way back when, Gabe was trying to get Sam ready for the Apocalypse, and what he would lose. So he basically put Sammy in a time loop, like Bill Murray, in the movie _Groundhog Day_. And every day, at some point in the day, I got killed. For about 120 days. Sammy finally figured it out, and got Gabe to knock it off. And now, with all of that behind us, it’s funnier than it was then, so now it’s kind of a joke that I put it in there. Gabe’ll get it. Sending that one.” Dean grinned.

“Okay. Tell me about Crowley and Rowena?”

“Crowley was born Fergus MacLeod. He was Rowena’s son, but she thought love makes one weak, and refused to love the boy. She was a witch – a powerful one – and she abandoned Fergus at the age of nine and traveled around, seeking ways to become stronger. Fergus ended up making a deal with a crossroads demon; he says it was to get a penile extension, but who knows if that’s really true. Anyway, he went to Hell, and eventually became the King downstairs. Occasionally, it was in his interest to help me and Sam, occasionally, it wasn’t. But eventually, we all ended up in an alternate reality where Michael had won the Apocalypse, and it was every bit as bad as Lucifer winning had been foretold to be, and Crowley sacrificed himself – literally stabbed himself with an angel blade – to save us. Rowena eventually did the same; technically, Sam killed her, but he just held the knife still while she walked into it, in order to activate a spell that collected the souls that had escaped from Hell when Chuck opened the rift in Stull Cemetery. And then she fell into Hell and sealed the rift, and saved us all.”

“You mention a Gavin. Who’s that?” Mia asked.

“Crowley’s son. He came forward in time. Crowley and Rowena got to spend some time with him; then he had to be sent back to his own time, to die. He knew he was going back to die, and he was very brave about it. All three of them, among the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

“And then you started a letter to Kevin, but after two sentences, it stops, and you wrote a journal entry, instead. Tell me about that, Dean.”

“I started writing to Kevin, and then I remembered something. I thought it could be important, for the fight against Chuck, so I went to tell Cas, but he just blew me off. So I got a little pissy. It’s all in the journal entry. Anyway, we talked about it, later on last night, and we’re okay now.”

“In your journal entry, you pose a question to me about your homework. I think what you’ve been doing is helping tremendously. It helps me to get a feel for who you are, and who the important people in your life are, and how you feel about them. You write about your progress and your setbacks, both, with remarkable clarity and insight, Dean. You understand your own motivations and most of the time, I think just writing it down helps you to figure it out. Do you agree?”

“I do.” Dean nodded. “It really helps to write things out. I know after I wrote that journal entry, when I talked to Cas, it helped, because I already knew what I wanted to say – it was like the entry was my script, and I could ‘read’ from it, even though I didn’t have it with me.”

“That’s good, Dean. Communication is essential to a good relationship, so if you have time, and you can think out and write down what you want to say, it helps you to communicate. Just remember, you have to actually say the words, too.” Mia smiled.

“Yeah. That’s the hard part.” Dean smiled back.

“Okay, so you finished the letter to Kevin. And then there’s a letter to someone named Ruby. Tell me about that, Dean.”

“Oh, that bitch. Sorry, but she was. She was a demon. She worked directly for Lilith, but no one but her and Lilith knew that; everyone else thought she worked for Azazel. Sam thought that she had been working for Azazel, but that she’d had second thoughts about bringing about the Apocalypse, and wanted to help him stop it. In fact, she was trying to get him to bring it on. It turned out that killing Lilith was the final seal that had to be broken to free Lucifer. Lilith wanted her master freed, and was willing to die to achieve it. So, she sent Ruby to get her hooks into Sam and manipulate Sam into being strong enough and willing to kill Lilith. And it worked. Azazel had fed demon blood to Sam as a baby, just a taste, to awaken his otherwise dormant psychic powers. Ruby fed him demon blood by opening her vein and giving it to him to suck, while she fucked him to make the taste more palatable. She fed it to him by the gallon, and trained him to use his psychic power to kill demons to take it from. He first learned to exorcise them with his mind, then kill them and send them to The Empty with his mind. He killed Lilith. Then Ruby told him the truth, as the floor was cracking open to release Lucifer from The Cage. Sam tried to kill Ruby, but he had used up all his power on Lilith. So he held her still, and I killed Ruby with her own demon-killing knife.”

“And Meg?”

“Another demon. But Meg was different. She was one of Azazel’s, too, but I think he maybe pulled her out of the Pit too soon, because she retained a lot of her humanity – unlike most demons, she could still remember back to when she’d been alive, being human and what it was like. Like I say in the letter, she redeemed herself.”

Mia nodded.

“And Anna?”

“Anna was an angel, originally named _Anael_. She was actually Cas’ commanding officer in his garrison for a long time, but she rebelled, and fell to Earth, and got separated from her grace on the way down. She was reborn as a human as a result, and was adopted by the Milton family. But when she was a teenager, she started hearing voices in her head. It was Angel Radio, but she didn’t know that, and she couldn’t turn it off or tune it out, and what the angels were saying scared her, so she committed herself for psychiatric treatment. She checked herself out shortly before I got out of Hell. The rest of the important stuff is in the letter. It’s one of three I made copies of, to have Cas deliver, if possible; neither he nor I know if she’s in Heaven. He wasn’t sure if she had been particularly loyal to him, enough that The Cosmic Entity would have awakened her and sent her back to help us.”

“And Balthazar?”

“Balthazar also served in Cas’ garrison, under Cas, for a long time. At one point, he collected a bunch of Heaven’s weapons, and hid them, and when Cas was fighting with Raphael for control of Heaven – Cas won, obviously – Balth got him the weapons cache by sending Sam and I as a lure to an alternate reality, hoping that Raph and his goon, Virgil, would chase us there; they did. Cas pulled us back, and Raph and Virgil were stuck there for a while. But it was always kind of hard for Sam and I to tell where Balth stood, whether he was on Cas’ side, or not. So, it was nice to know that The Cosmic Entity sent him back, as being loyal to Cas.”

“Tell me about Benny, Dean.”

“Benny’s one of my all-time best friends. You’d love him, Mia. He’s a sweet old Southern Cajun Creole boy, from Orleans parish, Louisiana. He was a vampire, but he didn’t kill humans; he either drank small animals, or got human blood from blood banks. He had been killed by some other vamps, and when I went to Purgatory, he was already there. He knew that there was a rift that went from Purgatory back to Earth, that would open when a human came near, and he knew where it could be found. He offered to lead me to it, show me how it worked. I insisted on finding Cas, so it took us a lot longer than it should. And Cas was on the run from some Leviathans, so it made it more dangerous than it would have, as well. Benny would, once in a while, calmly explain to me why looking for Cas, or having Cas with us, was a bad idea, but he never tried to stop me from bringing Cas with us, beyond that. He only asked one thing – that I take his soul with us when we left, carried in my flesh, and that I take it back to where his body had been buried, and bring him back. So, I did.

“Later, during the Trials, we had to free an innocent man’s soul from Hell. We found out that Bobby had gone downstairs, and that there was a way to get him out. We enlisted the aid of a rogue reaper, named Ajay, to ferry Sam into Hell and back out again. Ajay got Sam into Hell, by going through Purgatory; he told Sam how to get back out of Hell with Bobby’s soul, but said he’d meet up with him to get them out of Purgatory. But Crowley wanted Bobby in Hell, and so he killed Ajay before he could go back for them. When I found out that Ajay had been killed, I asked Benny for a favor. He knew immediately what I wanted, and he just laid down his life, let me kill him and send him back to Purgatory, got Sam out for me, and refused to come with Sam because there were three vamps on their trail – he stayed to make it possible for Sam to get out. I assume he’s still there; if he’d gotten out somehow, he would’ve let me know.”

“Okay, and then you have a letter to… Cain. Which, from things you’ve said, I assume is actually _the Cain_ , from the Bible.”

“Yep. That’s him.”

“You say here that he resisted the Mark. Tell me about that.”

“Sometime in the mid-1800s, not sure exactly when, he fell in love with a woman named Collette Mullen. She saw past the demon, past the legend, past the Bible, and saw the good man underneath. She loved him, and she married him. And because of her, he was able to resist the urging of the Mark upon his skin, and killed no one for over 150 years. And then I came along. He gave me the Mark, but that didn’t free him from its influence. And as I was leaving his property to go and kill Abaddon, the only other remaining Knight of Hell, demons descended upon his house, and he brought them all inside, and killed them all as I left. I know that, because later, I had to kill him. He thanked me for doing it. And, as I say in the letter, Amara told Cas that the Mark has been completely destroyed now, so Cain should be free of its influence, and hopefully he’s at peace, as well as at rest.”

“Amazing what a good relationship can do, isn’t it, Dean?” Mia grinned at him. He grinned back.

“I can’t send the letter to Cain, obviously, but I made a copy of the letter that I wrote to Collette, and had Cas take it with him up to Heaven to be delivered. I thought someone ought to let her know that the Mark is finally gone.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet, Dean. And then the last thing here, or so it appears, is a letter to Zachariah. Who’s that, Dean?”

“Zachariah was an angel; in fact, he was Cas’ direct superior, after Anael fell and became Anna Milton. Zach was Team Michael, all the way, and he was determined to get me to say ‘yes’ to Michael, no matter what he had to do, who he had to hurt or manipulate. He was an utter bastard. Most of what he did is in that letter.”

Mia nodded. “Okay. So, who’s left to write to, Dean?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t write to Alastair, but I don’t _want_ to. He’s important, but I don’t want to give him any more power over me by acknowledging that, y’know?”

“I agree, Dean, that writing to Alastair would be counter-productive.

"Well, let’s leave it at this – if you think of someone you think _needs_ to be written to, _write_. Otherwise, let’s keep to the daily journal entries about current events, you can write about past events if you think they have relevance.

"And, I want you to write a letter to _yourself_. One each day, starting this evening, to your past self, at different ages, about what you were going through at that age. And next Tuesday morning, before you come here, write to yourself in the _present_ , about what you’re going through _now_ , what your plans are for the _future_. That should give you plenty to write about.”

“Yeah. Sounds good. We might need to block out a session of longer than an hour.” Dean grinned.

“Dean, if you hadn’t noticed, you’ve been here for **_three hours_** _for each of our sessions so far_. I’m not seeing anyone but you on Tuesday afternoons for the time being. I’m only charging for the first hour, but you’ve clearly needed more time.”

Dean startled at that. “What? No way.” He pulled out his cell phone, and, sure enough, he’d arrived at noon, and it was just before 3:00. “I told Cas I’d pick him up in an _hour_.”

“Well, call him. See you next week, Dean.”

***


	8. Dean's Homework Following Session #4, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean writes the assigned letters to himself, and continues to journal.

_Dear Dean:_

_You’re just four years old, and Daddy’s the most important person in your life right now. He makes you feel special, loved. Oh, sure, you love Mom and Sammy, too, but as far as you’re concerned, Daddy is where it’s at. He’s perfect. Your hero, and your best friend. When he hoists you up into his arms, hugs you, and laughs, that’s **everything**. _

_I wish you could hold on to that. To that man, to that father. Frozen in time, in my memory. You can’t stay in one moment forever, of course. But **I wish so badly** that you could have had that version of him for just a little longer._

_It’s not your fault, Dean. Mom died because of Azazel, not you. Dad changed because of Azazel, not you. **You did nothing wrong**._

_Yeah. 36 years later, I **still** don’t believe that. Intellectually, of course, I know it to be true. Emotionally, though…._

_Mia’s right. **Emotionally, I’m still you**. That little tow-headed, slightly chubby, scamp, who thinks Sammy’s the best thing since sliced bread, and doesn’t understand why everything had to change._

**_Everyone leaves_ ** _. Mom, that (and every) version of Dad, even Sammy. **Everyone**. Get used to it, kiddo._

_I’m sorry, Dean._

_I’m so sorry._

_Dean_

***

**_ Tuesday evening _ **

_So, since writing the letter to Zachariah last night, I kind of feel like a lot has happened, and yet, not much really occurred. While writing that letter, I remembered more stuff about Chuck that would seem to indicate that he maybe isn’t really God. I went to talk with Cas about it, and he started to blow me off again, but I pointed out that he was doing it, and he stopped, and actually listened, and agreed with my suggestion for how to handle trying to find out for sure. And then I took him through what I wrote about in my entry yesterday, about how I felt he was being condescending, that I don’t need babysitting, and I don’t like the idea of cracks in our foundation._

_I also made sure to praise him for having advised us of his plans, and not just going off on his own, and acknowledged that he was making real progress, too, and I thanked him for it. And that little bit of praise made him so happy, he practically glowed. He apologized, and admitted he had been dismissive when he shouldn’t act like that, and that made me feel better._

_And then I yawned, and he said he could use some rest, too, so maybe we should go to bed. So I asked if he wanted to go to bed, or to sleep, and he admitted he wasn’t quite ready for sleep. So I asked if he wanted to try a “one new thing” and he said he had one to propose – he said that I had been inside him, and he wanted to try being inside me. And my brain stopped. Just stuttered out in the hallway. So then he started to backtrack, thinking I was rejecting him, and I had to shut that down quickly, because I wasn’t rejecting either him, or the idea. I told him the idea made me nervous, but I wanted to try to turn nervous into excited, and that if he could be patient with me, I thought that could happen. And he said that’d be okay, and reminded me that I’m allowed to say “no”, I don’t ever have to do anything I’m not comfortable with or not ready for yet. And that made me feel better, too._

_Then we decided that “one new thing” works when we start out with what we’re already comfortable with, and add in the new thing organically, as it comes up. So, we got into our pjs and brushed our teeth, etc., then met up back in the bedroom, and Cas suggested we start by just cuddling at first, to let us get used to the feel of each other again, shirts off, pants on. That much is old territory by now, so it felt good, right, to get into bed shirtless and roll to face my angel._

_Cas was very patient and gentle, but he kind of… took over. He wasn’t assertive, or demanding, really, but he was definitely in charge, directing the proceedings, and it was hot. He kept telling me to just lie still for him, and he insisted that I use my words to tell him what I wanted. If I could ask for it, I could have it, but if I asked for nothing, all I’d get was him licking wet stripes on my abdomen and blowing over them to make me shiver, which was also hot._

_He set the pace, and it was so slow and careful and tender, and he said “I love you, Dean,” each time he pulled out, before he would push back in. He wanted my eyes open, and focused on him the whole time. And he insisted that I say “I love you” back to him, which I was, of course, happy to do. I know I didn’t hold as still for him as he wanted me to, but even so, he told me that I was perfect._

_This morning, after breakfast, Jack told me and Cas that he’d had another dream about his mom, so he’d asked her what “the light is the key” meant, but she just said that “some things can’t be given, only found” and Cas would have to discover the meaning on his own._

_Then Cas, Sam, Gabe, and I were sitting around in the kitchen and Cas was taking requests and messages for up in Heaven – Sam and I wanted him to hug mom for us, tell Bobby hello, that kind of thing – and when Sam got a little emotional, I noticed Gabe squeezed his hand in support. So I asked Sam if I could speak with him, and Cas and Gabe took themselves off to give us a minute, and I asked Sam what was up with him and Gabe – said “I just need to know, Sam, do I welcome him to the family officially, or do I break his head?” Sam said that as of that morning, about mile 20 of their run, they were officially together, no details. Then he asked if Cas and I were good, and I said we were._

_Then we talked for a bit about my plans for the Salvage Yard, and for the vintage cars we’ve got in the Bunker’s garage, and Sam thought it all sounded good and I should go for it, “make Bobby proud.” So I asked if it would just be Bobby, and Sam told me that he’d never not been proud of me, that I’m his hero and the best man he knows, and that he loves me. And then he told me to have a good session, and to let him know if I needed to talk, after._

_I thanked him for making me get help, and said that I didn’t know why I let everything get so bottled up. And then he said that I do know why – Dad. I wasn’t supposed to have feelings. He said, “You were supposed to just be his perfect little soldier. He didn’t pull that kind of crap with me nearly as much, and I fought back against it a lot more than you did, and I still have trouble talking about my feelings. It has to be at least one hundred times worse for you. You’re not imagining that, Dean. That’s not something Alastair did to you, or not all of it, anyway. That’s **Dad**.” And he’s right. _

_So I told him about my letter to Dad, and my memory of Dad from just before the fire, when I last heard him laugh. And he reminded me of the time in Chicago, right after all the crap with Meg, when Dad smiled and hugged us, said that he’d missed us. That’s one of the clearest good memories I have of Dad, and apparently it’s the same for Sammy. Then Sam said he might make an appointment with Mia, too. And then I realized I was going to be late if I didn’t get moving._

_My session ran long – nearly three hours – and I was shocked when Mia said that each of our sessions so far have gone about the same length of time. I had no idea._

_Mia gave me some good advice – she said that I am not ready to talk to Sam about Emma, and may never be ready, and that’s okay. She said I should give myself permission to be angry with him, let myself feel that anger, let it out and let it go – and skip over any kind of confrontation or conversation with Sam about it, because I love Sam and always will, and being angry with him won’t change that, but having a confrontation might, and I need the relationship more than I need the fight. She’s right. I need Sam, and I need to feel the anger, but then let it go. So I think I’ll talk with Cas about doing that this weekend, while we’re up in Sioux Falls._

_Then Mia asked me to tell her, not what I’d done wrong in the events that led up to my panic attack, but what I had done right. She said it was “really good” that I caught and apologized for my having sniped at Cas. She said I didn’t spiral due to the one single thing I was most concerned about when I first went to see her – my anger issues. She said that I spiraled because I was afraid of pushing away the best thing that’s ever happened to me – Cas. She told me that I cannot control Cas. He’s his own person. If he decides to go, I can’t stop him from leaving, and that terrifies me. He tells me he won’t go, and intellectually, I believe that he means it. But emotionally, I’m still that terrified four-year-old, running from a house fire with my brother in my arms, not understanding where my mother went and why she won’t come back. In other words, it’s my abandonment issues rearing their ugly heads._

_Then she said that my abandonment fears were much more deeply seated, much more foundational, than my anger, and it makes perfect sense because no one has ever been allowed to be a constant in my life, every single point of contact has been taken away from me. That I fear not just the loss of people that I love, but the **lack of control over losing them** that I’ve always felt, and that’s what leads to my self-sabotage – it’s a means of gaining back that **control**. If I push them away, then that’s why they leave. And while I’ve kind of known that the whole time, the conversation with Mia really helped me get it, the why of what I always do. And if I understand why I do it, maybe it’s easier to change what I do, to change my own motivations, to stop self-sabotaging my relationships. _

_Mia encouraged me to plan out what I need to say, especially when it’s to someone I care about, like Cas or Sam. To take the time to write it out, in a letter or a journal entry, but to remember that I have to actually say the words, too. It feels a little odd because I never really planned anything for any relationship before, and I think that’s tied, again, to the abandonment issues. Why plan to say something to someone you know is just going to leave? If I’m going to accept my relationship with Cas as something permanent and real, then I have to take the time to think about what I want to say to him, have to make plans with him and stick to them, have to let myself accept that it really is real between us._

_I’ve always felt like, okay, screw up one relationship, it’s 50/50 on saying who was to blame for it ending, but when I’ve consistently screwed up 100% of my relationships, then the common factor there, in all of them, is… me. I’ve internalized the blame for everyone leaving, whether it was really my fault, or not. Like the letter I wrote earlier this evening to four-year-old me. Intellectually, I know that Mom died and Dad changed because of Azazel, and it had literally nothing to do with me. But to me, emotionally, it still, thirty-six years later, feels like it’s my fault. I have to let that go. It wasn’t my fault. I did nothing wrong. I saved Sam from the fire, got him outside and to safety. **There was nothing that I could have done to save Mom. There was nothing I could have done to stop Dad from changing due to her death. Nothing. It was not my fault. IT WAS NOT MY FAULT**._

_After session, I came back and wrote that letter to myself right away, and it took over an hour. By the time I was done, I was starving, so I went to start dinner for everyone. And we had a full house today – me, Cas, Sam, Gabe, Jack, Shann, Balthazar, and Hannah. It was actually pretty nice to see Balthazar and Hannah again, especially since we’re all on the same side now, and not trying to kill each other._

_After dinner, Jack and Shann did the washing up, and then Shann took off for the day. The rest of us met in the library to discuss planning and make sure everyone was on the same page in terms of knowing what’s going on across everything we’ve got going on – communication helps._

_Hannah met with Amara. Amara intends to remain neutral, but she does want to meet. So we’re going to ask her to meet with us this weekend, at Bobby’s house – well, our house, now – in Sioux Falls._

_Also, this weekend, Cas and I are going to tell Claire that we’re together. And I’m starting to think that maybe before we go, I should have another conversation with Cas, about where we want this relationship to go, long-term. I know I love him, and I know he’s always going to be “it” for me. I know he loves me, too. Which makes me wonder if maybe we should make it official. Dude’s gone millennia without a last name. I think “Cas Winchester” sounds pretty damn good._

***

**_ Dean’s Draft Proposal Letter #1: _ **

_Dear Cas,_

_I’m going to try very hard to say all of this to you out loud, but you know that I am terrible at verbalizing how I’m feeling, so I’m taking the precaution of writing this down. I want to plan out what I want to say, and then if I just can’t say it, I can give you this, and you can know that I tried, all right? **I really want to be able to say it**. I know you understand why I might not be able to, and that makes it a little easier to try._

**_I love you_ ** _. I am **so** in love with you. I know that you will always be **it** , for me. No one else could **possibly** understand me better or know more of me, than you. And the miracle is, you love me **anyway**. You know what I did in Hell. You know what I did as a demon, bearing the Mark. You know my every evil deed, my every twisted thought, my every horrible impulse. And, despite it all, **you love me**. You insist that I’m enough, that I’m good, that I deserve good things, that my soul shines, that I make you happy. I can’t pretend to understand how it is that you can possibly feel that way, but I am so glad that you do. _

_I don’t want to hurt you, not ever. I don’t want to shut you out any more. I’m done with blaming you, and pushing at you, and sniping at you. I just want to love you, and be with you. And I know that you’ve said that you love me, that you’re in love with me, and that you’ll never leave me. That if I went away, you’d come after me. So, I’m hoping that that means you’ll go along with what I’m going to say next._

_Dearest Castiel, Angel of the Lord, my guardian, my best friend, my love, please: will you make me the happiest man in existence and agree to be my husband? Will you let me give you my last name, and be **Castiel Winchester**? _

_We don’t have to jump into anything immediately. If you think **you’re** not ready, if you think **I’m** not ready, if you think we should wait for some **other** reason, like not letting Chuck know about us, or something like that, that’s fine. I’m not suggesting we run off to a Justice of the Peace tomorrow. But I like being your partner, your boyfriend, and your lover. I think I’d like to be your fiancé, and, eventually, your husband, too. _

**_I love you, Cas. Please. Marry me_** _._

_Dean_

***

**_ Wednesday morning _ **

_Billie was waiting for Shann in his garage this morning; fortunately, she just wanted him to pass on some messages, she wasn’t there for **him** (and interestingly, told him that she wouldn’t be coming for him for some time; I don’t remember Billie ever being comforting like that to anyone before). She had a message for Sam – “You need to take the position you were born to take, and Dean needs to go the opposite way. You can both do it, and you’ll have my support” – and one for me – “your books have changed again, and you’re back to multiple options, none of them immediate.” _

_Her message for **Sam** is clear, insofar as what she wants him to do; she wants him to take the throne in Hell. But saying that I need “to go the **opposite** way”? That’s as clear as mud. _

_Her message for me, though, that’s obvious – my “books” are the books of the various ways my life could go, and end. The last time Billie mentioned them to me was when I had Michael as a captive in my mind, and she was giving me the solution of the Ma’lak Box, and telling me that all of my various books had changed to indicate it was the only way out of the situation with Michael – and my only available endgame. What she’s saying now is that they’ve changed back to the original myriad of possible endings, and that none of them will happen anytime soon – which I guess is comforting._

_I’m finally getting around to taking Cas shopping. We’re going to Wichita overnight; Lebanon’s just too small to have everything Cas needs – which is basically **everything**. I swear, once we get him outfitted properly, I’m **burning** Jimmy’s suit, and that damned trench coat!_

_I told Cas that while he’s trying on clothes, I have some errands to run – and I do. I’m picking out matching engagement bands for us. I’m proposing to my angel tonight._

_I made reservations for us to stay at this little B &B called the Wellington Place Inn. I’ve never stayed there, but I’ve seen it a few times and always thought it was gorgeous. I also made dinner reservations at this steakhouse called the Scotch and Sirloin. I haven’t eaten there, but I found it online in a list of the most romantic restaurants in the city, and hey – whisky and steak? How can it miss? Of course, I won’t be having any booze, but I honestly don’t even miss it. I never got even close to one one-hundredth of what I get from being with Cas from alcohol, no matter how much I drank. _

_It’s funny how nervous I’m **not**. I know what I want. **I want** **Cas**. He’s said he wants me, too, and that he’ll never leave me, so I’m hoping that surprising him with this will work out the way I want it to, with him saying yes. _

_I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of my angel, and having it be my legal right to do so. I want to be obligated, legally **required** , to take care of him. _

_I’m done worrying about what I deserve. This is what I **want**. And if it’s what Cas wants, too, then I want to give it to him. And I want to start tonight._

***


	9. Dean's Homework Following Session #4, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean continues to draft proposals to Cas, to write the assigned letters to his younger self, and to journal.

**_ Dean’s Draft Proposal Letter #2: _ **

_Dear Cas:_

_I love you. I am in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of my angel, and having it be my legal right to do so. I want to be obligated, legally required, to take care of you, always. And so I have a question for you, Angel – will you please marry me?_

_Dean_

***

_Dear Dean,_

_You’re just eight years old. You should be in school, but you’ve had only a few days here and there, and everything else you know is basically self-taught. Good thing Mom read to you so much when you were little that you knew how to read by the age of three, or you’d never have learned anything else (thanks, Mom!)._

_I know you’re sick of taking care of Sammy, and I know he gets on your nerves; he can’t help it, he’s only just turned four, still younger than you were when Mom died in the fire. And when he specifically asks for something for dinner, and then, once it’s made, says he no longer wants it, I know how crazy you get. I remember. I don’t blame you a bit. But remember, Dean, he doesn’t do it to hurt you. He has no idea how often you’ll go without food to make sure he has some. He has no clue how worried you are, how desperate you are for someone to take care of **you** – because you take such good care of **him**. And that’s exactly how you want it, Dean. _

_You don’t want Sammy to know what it’s like to be you. You don’t want Sammy to know how it feels to constantly be in terror. You want at least one of you to have a chance at being normal, and you know already it will never be you. Sammy’s got the best chance by far at being normal, at having a happy life, and you want that for him, no matter what you have to do to get it for him. You’d do literally anything for that kid, including going to Hell itself._

_I understand the impulse to just want a minute to yourself, to want some fresh air, to breathe. To have a few hours of being a kid, able to play a game for a while, without fear of the consequences. I get it, I do. But that’s just not your life, Dean. Because every time you’re just a kid, Sammy’s endangered. And you won’t let anything happen to Sammy, not ever._

_So when Dad lays down the law, when he gives you an order, you’ll take his crap, and you’ll follow his orders, because when you don’t, things go to shit, and Sam gets hurt. And Sam cannot be hurt. That’s the real prime directive: Sam must be kept safe. Always._

_Means you won’t have much of a life for a long time, but hey, it’s worth it. It’s Sam. Sorry, kiddo, but your brother comes first._

_Until you’re forty. And then Sam makes you get therapy, you put yourself first for a change, and you realize that the love of your life is the angel who’s been your best friend for eleven years, and Sam’s all for it. And you realize: it was worth it. Because Sam turned out to be a really good man, and he’s gone to Hell for you, too. And that little kid? You raised him right, Dean. He’s the man he is because of **you**. And you’re his hero._

_So, throw out the canned pasta you heated up for him to eat at his request, and give him the last of the Lucky Charms he wants now. It’ll be okay. It’s all going to be okay, Dean. Really. Someday._

_And someday, is today. I’m proposing to my angel today. Wish me luck._

_Dean_

***

**_ Dean’s Draft Proposal Letter #3: _ **

_Dear Cas,_

_I am in love with you, and I know that you will always be it, for me, because no one else could possibly understand me better or know more of me, than you. You’ve seen my soul. And the miracle is, you love me anyway. You know what I did in Hell. You know what I did as a demon, bearing the Mark. You know my every evil deed, my every twisted thought, my every horrible impulse. And, despite it all, you love me. You insist that I’m enough, that I’m good, that I deserve good things, that my soul shines, that I make you happy. I can’t pretend to understand how it is that you can possibly feel that way, but I am so glad that you do._

_I don’t want to hurt you, not ever. I don’t want to shut you out any more. I’m done with blaming you, and pushing at you, and sniping at you. I just want to love you, and be with you. And I know that you’ve said that you love me, that you’re in love with me, and that you’ll never leave me. That if I went away, you’d come after me. So, I’m hoping that that means you’ll go along with what I’m going to say next._

_Castiel, you’ve been my best friend for more than a quarter of my life. I’d like you to be my husband for the rest of it. Will you please marry me?_

_Dean_

***

**_ Thursday morning, early _ **

_I finally took Cas shopping yesterday. I bribed a clerk to help him, since he needed literally everything and I knew it would take a lot of time and effort. Then, while he was busy trying things on, I went to the jewelers and got our engagement rings. I had been thinking of just plain bands, but I noticed this design and couldn’t resist it. It’s even part of something called ‘the Angelic Collection’ and the design is meant to be angel wings, to either side of a diamond chip that indicates the angel’s heart. Perfect for us, really. Our rings are identical, except for the inscriptions inside. My ring says, “Cas’ heart.” Cas’ ring says “Dean’s Angel.” They’re pretty, yet still entirely masculine._

_Got back to the store where I had left Cas, and it was a disaster. The clerk wasn’t helping Cas, just bringing him a bunch of unrelated things and then rushing off. Poor Cas couldn’t make a choice, and the place looked like a tornado had hit. Cas was so frustrated and mad, and I don’t blame him a bit. I got him laughing, though, and then we were fine; I helped him make some good choices, and we got out of there, came back to our room at the very nice B &B where we’re staying, and got cleaned up and changed for dinner. _

_We went to a steakhouse called the Scotch and Sirloin. They have a rather extensive collection of various whiskeys, scotch, and bourbons. I had coffee to drink, and Cas had iced tea, until dessert, when he switched to coffee, too. It wasn’t even a difficult choice. I don’t need to feel numb any more._

_The food was great. Cas doesn’t need to eat, of course (though he can; it just “tastes like molecules”), so he just pretended, moving food around on the plate and now and then taking an actual bite for appearances. Between the entrees and dessert, I proposed, and he said yes. The whole restaurant applauded us as we hugged. I totally didn’t cry. Okay, I had tears in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Happy tears don’t count anyway. Then we both had crème brulee for dessert, which was incredibly good, and since it’s almost entirely sugar, even Cas liked it._

_Then we came back to the room. I had to ask the clerk something, so Cas came up ahead of me, and when I came in, he was just sitting on the edge of the bed, grinning like an idiot, staring at his ring. I told him how good he looked in his new suit, and he said “_ _You look pretty hot yourself, Winchester.” I pointed out that he was going to be a Winchester, too, and he made this funny little sound, like his breath was somehow choking him, and he said, “I hadn’t thought.” So, then I said, “Well, yeah. I’d take your last name, but you don’t really have one; unless you count Novak, but that’s Jimmy’s name, not yours, although I know you've used it from time to time. So, I figured you’d become ‘Castiel Winchester.’ Unless you don’t want to.” And he grabbed my hand and said that he did want to, and he looked so happy, so excited, and I realized a last name was something I could have given him years ago, just by making him a fake ID. I felt horrible that I’d never grasped before how important something like that might be to him. I swear, I’m going to spend the rest of forever making it up to him._

_We got ready for bed, and Cas went in to use the bathroom first. When he came out, I guess I was mirroring him, grinning like an idiot at my own ring. So he told me to stay just as I was, because he wanted to take a picture of me. He said I was beautiful. And apparently, I was… glowing. He caught the light that he keeps talking about, the one in my soul, on film somehow, and showed it to me. It freaked me out a little – it’s not normal for people to fucking glow, okay? – but he said it was a good thing, meant that I was healthy and happy and making good choices. I’m not entirely sure I believe that’s all it is – Sam makes healthy choices, and I don’t see him leaking radiation._

_We decided to make love, and it was lovely, really – light and fun, Cas even ‘booped’ my nose. I got a little… ticklish, I guess is the right word, maybe, or overly responsive? Not sure. But Cas joked that maybe if I couldn’t hold still, he should tie me down. And I kinda went with it, and said, “if you like… Sir.” And just like that, Cas was in charge. We had a four-poster bed in our room, and he tied me down with four of his new ties – not really tight, and he and I both knew that I could get out of it if I really wanted to – and blindfolded me (my choice, rather than being gagged) with his old tie. He was gentle, and loving, but utterly in control, and it turned me on like flicking a damn light switch._

_He knows I have trouble with expressing feelings and needs verbally, so he made me ask for what I wanted; but I felt so safe with him that I only stuttered a little bit, and managed to ask for four things – to kiss me, to suck me hard, to make love to me, and to help me to come when he did. When I asked for him to make love to me, he took the blindfold off. I think we both feel like in order to make love, we both need to be able to see each other, to look into one another’s eyes. He also untied my feet so I could bend my knees better, though he was between my legs and holding them open with his body and his hands. I didn’t mind a bit._

_I loved what we did, every minute of it. But afterward, I dreamt of Alastair. I was in a hallway of closed doors, walking past them, until I reached an intersection. And then I started to turn left, but then I questioned that decision, and turned right, instead. And as I walked along – more cautiously now, though I told myself I was being silly – I reached a door that was open, but I couldn’t see inside. So, like an idiot, I stepped through the door, and into Hell. Two smoke demons caught me immediately, and bound me to the rack, shrouding me to keep me silent and blind until they had me strapped down and gagged. When the smoke cleared, Alastair was there._

_He said,_ _“Helllllo, Dean. So nice of you to come my way. You know, I don’t get to see you very often, not for a long time now. I blame that… what did you call him? Pesky angel? Indeed. So irritating. See, your brother killed me – oh, yes, Dean, I am indeed dead – so now, I can only hurt you when you return to me in your dreams, walking your own memory palace. That’s right, Dean - you came here freely, of your own volition. Which means you want what I can do to you.”_

_I tried to shake my head no, but the straps were in the way, so I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stand to think that I had chosen this perversion, yet, it had been my decision to come this way, to go through that door._

_Alastair continued, “You want the pain, Dean. You crave it. You need it. I put that need in you, and it has never diminished. Oh, you can resist it, for a while. And when you start to actively seek it out, Castiel tries to shepherd you away from it. And he succeeds, for a while. But you always end up back here, eventually. Of course, he soothes you, wipes away the memory of the ‘bad dream,’ sometimes even before you awaken. But you always come back, Dean. Let us begin, shall we? What should I take from you first today, Dean? How about… your tongue? Yes, I think that would be an excellent place to start. Don’t want you calling out to your pesky little angel friend.”_

_Then he noticed my ring, which I was wearing, even in my weird-ass dream, and he said, “Ohhhh, make that your pesky little angel fiancé. Tsk tsk tsk. Dean, Dean, Dean. Don’t you remember? I already ruined you for relationships. Even though I’m dead, Dean, you still belong to me. In fact, before I take your clever little tongue, let’s hear you say it, Dean. Say, ‘I belong to you, Alastair,’ like the good little bitch I know you are. Go on, Dean. Say it.”_

_Then the strap holding my jaw in place loosened to allow me to speak, but instead of saying what Alastair wanted me to say, I screamed, “CASSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”_

_Then Alastair said, “Oh, bad boy. Bad bad bad. You just earned a punishment, Dean.”_

_And then I woke up. And Cas was still sound asleep. I’m so used to him hearing my prayers, hearing Sam from within Sam’s nightmares, that it kind of baffled me that he was sleeping. I think, now that I’m actually thinking more clearly, that it was because there was no actual threat to me. It was just a dream. When Sam was having his nightmares of Lucifer and Michael torturing him, it was different – they’re actually in his head, and were actually trying to actively torture him at the time. In my case, Alastair is dead. He’s gone. He hasn’t taken up residence, he’s not a “memory with intent” or whatever the hell Lucifer and Michael are. He’s just a memory, and nothing more. A fragment of my subconscious. So while it certainly wasn’t pleasant, or a good dream, there was no real threat, and so my scream wasn’t “real” either, in the sense of pinging Cas’ threat radar._

_But I have to wonder, was the dream triggered by what we did in bed? Did my subconscious relate Cas tying me down for fun with Alastair strapping me to the rack for torture? If so, I want to find a way to move past that right quick, because I want to be able to do with Cas whatever the two of us decide we want to do, whether it’s just making love, or full-on BDSM, without having to worry that Alastair is going to show up in my dreams afterward._

_So, Mia, question for you – how do I exorcise an already dead demon from my psyche?_

***

_Dear Dean,_

_You’re 15 years old and a more cocky, arrogant, tough guy never lived, right? From the outside, at least. That’s what everyone sees when they look at you. That’s what you want – need – everyone to see when they look at you. You can’t let anyone know how badly you ache to be just a kid, to lose the responsibility that you’ve handled for so long._

_You’re a smart kid, but you never do the homework; what’s the point, when John’s just going to yank you right back out of whatever school he’s dumped you in for the moment just as soon as he gets back from wherever the hell he’s gone now, right? You won’t be there long enough to finish the essay the English teacher assigned. You don’t need to study for the math test you won’t be there to take. Besides, you’ve got other things to worry about – the money’s gone, and there’s no food left. You don’t mind going hungry, yourself; but Sammy’s got to eat. And that’s way more important than doing the stupid assignment for history class._

_There’s a convenience store right next to the motel where John left you and Sam this time. Along with the usual candy and junk food, this place has actual groceries. They cost too much, but you have no cash anyway, so it’s going to have to be the five-fingered discount. A loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter will keep the kid fed until John gets back, and you can probably get that out of the store under your coat without a problem, though the bread might get a little smushed._

_But the clerk sees, and calls the cops. They arrest you, and they call John. John’s so pissed that you got caught, he refuses to come for you. You end up at Sonny’s Home for Boys; you don’t know where Sammy is, and no one can or will tell you._

_At first, you retreat into yourself. No point in talking to anyone, you won’t be there long enough. But the time stretches, and John doesn’t come and doesn’t come. After a couple of weeks, Sonny tells you that John actually told the deputy to let you “rot in jail.” It looks like John’s not coming back, and if you just knew where Sammy was, knew Sammy was all right, it would be a relief not to have to worry about John anymore. In fact, Sam is fine, he’s at Bobby’s, but you have no clue where he is, and you’re scared out of your mind over the rugrat’s safety, which has been your first priority for years now._

_You start to acclimate, settle in. Sonny is decent. You get three square meals a day, fresh air, you can actually concentrate at school (except for still being distracted by worrying about where the hell Sammy is), you’re taking guitar lessons (and you’re actually pretty good), and hey, you’ve got a girl. Not just a conquest, someone to see how fast you can get them to drop their panties in the janitor’s closet, a real girlfriend. Someone who cares about you, and you care about her in return. You join the wrestling team and help lead the team to victory a couple of times, even winning an award yourself._

_This is what it feels like to be a normal teen, and you like it. And then Sonny invites you to stay permanently. He tells you he’ll fight for you. He’ll fight John for you. For you. Because he believes in you._

_And then John shows up, just as you’re getting ready to take your girl to the dance – the first dance you’ve ever actually wanted to attend. Of course, John insists you go and go now. Sonny again says he’ll fight for you – but you look out the window, down at the Impala, and you see Sam sitting in the backseat. You don’t know where he’s been the past two months, if he’s eaten, if he’s okay, and you know that if you don’t go now, John won’t be back, and you’ll never know. You know you have to leave, and though it breaks your heart to do it, you lie to Sonny for the first time, telling him you want to go._

_You don’t want to go. You desperately want to stay. But Sammy is yours. You’ve cared for him for 11 years now, you’ve been his parent as well as his brother, and you can’t face never seeing him again, never knowing whether or not he’s all right. You could give a rat’s ass about John, but Sam? You’d move heaven and earth for your brother, much less give up your only chance at a normal life._

_So you go. And you don’t look back as the Impala drives away from Sonny’s farm. And later, once Sammy’s safely sleeping, you talk back to John for the first time in years, telling him that he can’t be gone for that long, can’t leave you with inadequate funds and food, that if he wants you to keep Sam safe, he has to give you the means to do so. That it’s his fault you ended up in jail._

_That much is clear in my mind. Of all of that, I have just the one set of consistent memories. From there, however, it diverges into multiple memories, courtesy of Alastair._

_In one, John agrees with me, tells me I’m right, and going forward makes sure to leave enough cash or to at least check in every couple of days. Since I don’t believe that ever happened, I’m fairly sure that’s a false memory, but I don’t know why Alastair would have bothered with a false memory where John was the good guy._

_In another, John laughs at me, says that it’s not his fault, I should have been a better thief, and then hauls off and backhands me, knocking me to the ground, pulls off his belt, and beats me. Knowing what I know now, I think this is unlikely to be a true memory._

_In another, John tells me that if I want more cash, there are many ways that I can make money, then takes me to a bar and pimps me out to a trucker who fucks my mouth for $50, but at least doesn’t hurt me, and doesn’t make me swallow. Given my other memories of John’s blatant homophobia, I have a hard time believing this memory, too._

_In another, John tells me that if I want more cash, there are many ways that I can make money, then takes me to a bar and teaches me how to hustle pool. Given that I know for a fact that John did teach me to hustle pool at some point, and that I turned around and taught Sam, I suspect this last one is the real memory. I may ask Mia to hypnotize me to see for sure._

_Dean, you were a good kid. You deserved to have a normal life. You deserved to be on the wrestling team, to get good grades, to have a girl to take to a dance. You did nothing wrong. John’s shit parenting choices are not on you. You did the best you could and you took on more than you ever should have been asked to do. And the proof that you did well is how good Sam turned out. Be proud of that, Dean._

_I’m proud of us._

_Dean_

***

**_ Thursday afternoon _ **

_Cas and I are back at the Bunker, shopping trip to Wichita successfully concluded, safely engaged. Our engagement has been announced and our rings admired._

_On the way back, Kathy called to set up a meeting with Cas, where she’ll speak on behalf of Chuck (God); apparently, he wants to stop fighting. I’ll believe it when I see it. They’re meeting next weekend._

_In the meantime, we have an appointment to meet with Amara (God’s sister) this Saturday. We’re planning to ask if she’ll help in a couple of small, but important, ways. We’ll see what she says._

_It was good to get away with Cas, but it’s also good to be home again. We were just gone overnight, but it feels like ages since we last slept in our own bed._

_It sounds odd to say, but I don’t miss being out on the road. I’m ready for something new. I think that restoring the vintage cars that the Men of Letters had here, and the inventory that Bobby had on hand at the Yard, could be that. It’ll take work, but it’s work I know how to do. I think settling down with Cas, and splitting our time between here and Sioux Falls, could be really good for us. Sam can keep doing research, and keep track of the hunters’ network, without going out himself. And maybe once in a while, we can do a hunt still. But we’re getting up there, and maybe it’s just time to hang it up and be safe. How many times are we supposed to save the world, after all?_

_We averted the Apocalypse. We talked Cas down from being God. We got rid of the Leviathans. We killed Abaddon. We got Amara under control. We got rid of Apocalypse World’s Michael. We’ve done enough._

_Haven’t we?_

***


	10. Dean's Homework Following Session #4, Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The letter writing and journaling continue. Dean's having bad dreams with some nasty side effects, so he asks Cas for help in trying to figure out what his subconscious is trying to tell him, and the relevant parts of those conversations are included here.

***

_Dear Dean,_

_It’s the end of October 2005. You’re 26 years old, and your father’s gone missing. You haven’t spoken with Sammy in two years, though you’ve kept track of him from a distance, without him knowing, and, of course, you know exactly where he lives, and how to break into his apartment in the middle of the night. You need his help to find John. He introduces you to his girl, Jess. He agrees to go with you for the weekend, but insists on being back in time for his law school interview on Monday._

_You don’t tell him, of course, but you’re so proud of him you could burst. Law school. God damn, that kid’s smart, and all the work you did making sure he got to school on time and did his homework, all the sacrifices you made, so that he could eat, and focus, and, as much as possible with the life John made you both live, be a normal kid – all worth it. Every bit of it. But you still need to find John, and last you knew, he was headed up the coast to a town called Jericho._

_So, the two of you go, and you don’t find John, but you do find a case. One it looks like John left for you to finish, though he’s left town. It’s a white woman, and Sammy figures out how to kill her. Then he insists on going back to school, even though John’s still in the wind. So, you drive him back, and you watch him go inside, then drive off. But you have this feeling you can’t shake – something’s not quite right – so you go back in time to see the flames in the bedroom window. You burst in the door, in time to save Sammy – but Jess is already dead, in flames, on the ceiling, just like Mom (it’s even November 2). Nothing to be done about her, she’s gone. You pull Sammy out, and he decides to forgo the interview. He comes back to hunting._

_You love that he’s with you, and you’re worried about John, who seems to have vanished. You know Jess’ death isn’t your doing, but you still feel horribly guilty. You pulled him away from her, and she died; now she’s gone and he’s with you. You know he’s still mourning her, but he won’t talk about it, and most days you don’t want to hear it anyway – hearing about how sad Sam is would just make your guilt worse._

_Months go by, with little to show for it. Every now and then, there’s a hint of John, but you keep losing his trail. It’s almost like he wants you not to find him. You turn 27 in January, but, as usual, your birthday passes unnoticed, as is your preference; you hate being made the center of attention. Never feels right to have too much love directed at you, does it?_

_In April, Sam tells you about his nightmares, and insists on going back to the house in Lawrence for the first time since the fire, which, it turns out, is haunted, by both a poltergeist, and the spirit of Mom. A few weeks later, you get electrocuted and almost die, but Sam takes you to a faith healer. Not realizing it’s really a rogue reaper, you get healed, but someone else dies in your place. Just another thing to feel guilty about._

_Sam turns 23 in May. Not long after that, Sam’s nightmares lead you to Michigan and Max Miller, one of Azazel’s Special Children – the first indication Sam has that he isn’t the only one who’s got odd powers awakening. Shortly after that, Sam gets kidnapped by the Benders, and it takes two days to find and rescue him._

_Shortly after that, the two of you go to Chicago for another case, and you finally meet up with John, who, amazingly, actually hugs you. He tells you both that he doesn’t want you hurt, and when Sam protests that he doesn’t have to worry about the two of you, he says, “Of course I do. I’m your father.” You haven’t seen John in months, not since you left for a hunt in New Orleans right before you went to Palo Alto to get Sam. Sam hasn’t seen him in years, not since the night they fought about Sam going to college, when the last thing John said to him was, “If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back,” yet here they are, hugging. It’s one of the few times in your life that you can recall John Winchester having a sober chick-flick moment, hugging both his sons and admitting to caring about both of you. Years later, you and Sam discover that, for each of you, it’s one of the best memories you have of the man, and he doesn’t even expressly state that he loves you._

_And doesn’t that just encapsulate your relationship with Dad? You would have done anything for him, been anything he wanted you to be, followed any order he gave you, but he goes months without so much as a word, disappears from view, admits to having ghosted you on purpose; then one hug each, and it’s the best memory you both have of the guy._

_I remember that evening so clearly. It’s one of the few that stand out, so Alastair didn’t bother to fuck with it later. Looking back now, I’m amazed at how easily I accepted the minimal affection he gave me, how happy I was to get any at all from him. Was it just the fact that he’d been missing for so long, just the relief of finding him, that made the crumbs he doled out in Chicago feel like so much at the time?_

_At 27, I believed my life was good. I see now that it was simply what I was conditioned to be willing to accept. Dean, eventually, you will discover that you deserve to be happy. Truly happy. And when that time comes, you won’t be willing to accept mere crumbs anymore._

_That sounds a little bitter, a little petty, but I see now how stand-offish Dad always was to me, so getting an actual hug? Being told that he didn’t want us to be hurt, and that of course he worried about us? It felt fucking amazing._

_But where was the concern all the times he got drunk and left it to me to raise Sammy? Where was the worry when he left us alone for weeks on end? Yup, I’m still angry, still conflicted._

_Dean, I have the whole loaf now, metaphorically speaking. My life now is good. So good. I’m happy. I’m in a healthy, committed relationship, a true partnership. Part of the reason why I’m angry now, writing this, is because my life now **is** so good, that I can compare and contrast with how it was then. _

_I think, Dean, that Dad actually did love both of you. I think he tried his best, but his best sometimes just wasn’t enough. So, I think you, then, and I, now, need to try to remember that he did try, and just let all of the other crap go. His neglect shaped me, but it didn’t break me._

_Just hang in there, kiddo. It takes a while, but the payoff is so worth it._

_Trust me._

_Dean_

***

**_ Friday afternoon _ **

_I dreamt of Alastair and Hell again. I want to record this a little more carefully, because if, as I suspect, this isn’t a message from some outside force, but rather just from my own subconscious, trying to process something, remembering and writing down as much as possible will be helpful not just to me, but to Mia. I feel it’s essential to figure out what it is my subconscious is trying to tell me, and sooner, rather than later. So, I’m going to try to be pretty detailed, here, Mia, just so you know._

_I was again walking down a long hallway of closed doors. I believe that it’s part of what Cas calls my “memory palace.” I felt at once like it was very familiar, and yet like I was utterly lost. I didn’t bother trying the doors to see if they would open, although I wasn’t sure why; I just felt like there was somewhere else I needed to be. The hallway came to an intersection, and I started to turn left, but then I stopped. And then I realized that this was **really** oddly familiar. I’d been here before – **recently**. I was sure of it. _

_I knew I’d taken this left turn many, many times. Left seemed comfortable. But **was** it? I remember wondering why I didn’t remember **ever** turning right, or going straight, and what would happen if I did? And then I did the same thing that I had done in the dream the night before – I deliberately turned right, and, realizing that I was suddenly walking more cautiously, huffed out a laugh. Nothing was going to happen, here, I told myself; this excessive caution was silly. Nevertheless, I started to choose my footing carefully, where before I’d been merely walking along. _

_And then, in the dream, I shook my head, realizing that this was **wrong** , somehow, dangerous. I paused, and half-turned to leave. Then I laughed at myself, and continued on my chosen path, but something in my head, some voice, was whispering caution, go back, leave this place, not safe, NOT SAFE, **DANGER**. A door was open, so I walked carefully up to it, but somehow I couldn’t see beyond the doorway. I carefully inserted just my face in through the doorway – saw Hell – and tried to pull back. Too late._

_I screamed as, just as in the prior night’s dream, two clouds of black smoke – vessel-less demons – seized me by the ears and dragged me all the way in from the hallway. I tried to call out for help, but one of the clouds wound around my head to silence and blinded me. I felt the smoke strapping me to the rack, locking me into place and gagging me tightly. The smoke cleared, and Alastair appeared in front of me, carrying his favorite scalpel. I knew it was utterly futile, but still desperately tried to shrink back, to struggle, to squirm; I couldn’t effect even the tiniest of movements._

_“Helllllo, Dean. I won’t be removing the gag, this time; I learn my lessons. Shame you never seem to. So, shall we begin?” Alastair stepped closer, and traced the edge of the knife lightly down from mu ear to the collar of my shirt. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt – I didn’t feel a thing. But then, as Alastair raised a finger smeared with my blood to sniff it, then lick it clean, I realized – the knife was simply too sharp, the first cut too shallow._

_Alastair sliced my shirt to ribbons with a few swift cuts, then ripped it from me. I couldn’t shrink back any further; I was all the way back against the rack, pressed tightly up against the wooden frame._

_“Oh, I almost forgot your ring, Dean. Seems to me I exhibited terrible manners, just terrible, last time you graced me with your presence here; I failed to congratulate you on your engagement. Not that it matters, Dean. You still belong to **me**. You always will.”_

_I shook my head violently._

_“No? I suppose you think you’re your own man? Or did you think that **Castiel** had some claim on you now? No. I have a **prior** claim, Dean. I own you, by your own admission. You **gave** yourself to me, willingly. When you got down off the rack, that was part of the deal, don’t you remember? By day, my apprentice torturer; by night, my willing love slave. There was no expiration date on our agreement, Dean. Castiel may have stolen you from me temporarily, and your brother may have killed me, but you are still my property. Castiel may have left a handprint on your shoulder (which, by the way, is faded away completely, now), and etched sigils onto your ribs that keep you from angel-sight, but I branded your **soul** , Dean. Your soul and your body belong to me, forever, whether I’m alive or not. And you gave me **yourself** , Dean.”_

_I continued to shake my head. Alastair just laughed, a low, vicious chuckle; it filled me with dread. Alastair began to carve shallow light patterns into my skin, the blood dripping from wounds across my torso, still utterly without pain, but I suspected that wouldn’t last._

_“I told you before, and it’s still true. There is no scenario where you end up in Heaven, Dean. Doesn’t matter if Castiel ends up in charge with the power to change the rules. Doesn’t matter a bit, because you deserve to go to Hell, Dean. You were condemned by your own hand. Long before you came downstairs, the first time you took a life, Dean – that was **murder**. Oh, you prettied it up, sure; you were killing **monsters**. They **had** to die. You were saving people. You had all **kinds** of justifications. So did your father – but he went down, too. And your father **didn’t** actually sell his soul for your life, Dean. He gave Azazel the **Colt** for your life. No, your father came downstairs because he was a **sinner**. He broke God’s laws. And even then, I still couldn’t get him to take the deal you did. _

_“You were just as much a sinner as your father before you ever made the deal for Sam’s life – that was why the crossroads demon with which you dealt was so hesitant, she knew she was getting tainted goods. She took the deal anyway because Azazel told her to – he wanted Sam on Earth for his little contest, knew Sam was a better vessel for Lucifer, was stronger than Jake ever thought of being. And, of course, Azazel wanted **you** down here as insurance – if Daddy couldn’t be persuaded to make the deal, maybe you could. And you **could** , Dean; you did. **You did!** And you did so **enjoy** torturing souls. Why, even after Castiel broke you out, you **still** tortured. Sometimes for the angels, sometimes for yourself. Admit it, Dean; you **love** to torture. You don’t feel **right** anymore unless you’re being tortured, or you’re torturing someone else – you were a sinner before you ever came down, your soul broken and polluted. _

_“You made a joke a while back, that maybe you should have been called ‘the Self-Righteous Man.’ It’s not really much of a joke, Dean. It’s more simple truth. Every time you’ve been distrustful of your brother, it wasn’t because of anything Sam did. It was because you knew that you would break under the same circumstances. And yet you are so Holier-Than-Thou to Sam. It’s a wonder he doesn’t curl his hand and snap your neck from across the room. Oh, yes – he **could**. Azazel didn’t give him the power, he just gave it a nudge, got it to wake up. Sam’s always been a rather powerful psychic, even without demon blood. The blood only ever gave him **confidence**. Confidence he lacked because of you and John, constantly harping on him.”_

_Alastair snapped his fingers and I was flipped around to face the rack, and my jeans and boxers were cut away as well, then Alastair snapped away the boots and socks, and I was naked, bound face down to the rack._

_I suddenly realized that this was a dream, and remembered the last dream, just the night before. I remembered calling for Cas, but Cas not hearing, despite being in the same room, because **there was no real threat**. Alastair himself had admitted that he was dead. He wasn’t even a ‘memory with intent’, like Lucifer and Michael in Sam’s head – he was simply a figment of my imagination, part of my subconscious. In the dream, I thought, this is just shit I need to process, need to get past, in order to be healthy. I realized that, like the time that Gabriel sent me and Sam to TV Land, **the only way out was through**. I decided I **would** make it out, and once I did, this would be **over**._

_So, I stopped squirming, trying futilely to press myself into the wooden rack. There was no point to it, and it just didn’t matter anyway. Nothing Alastair did would last, nor would any of it be new, because this was just a memory, combined with my own imagination – nothing more, and I could relax. B_ _ut then Alastair stepped up behind me, gripped the cheeks of my ass with each hand, and spread me apart – and thoughts of relaxation dissolved back into terror as Alastair’s cock punched viciously into me, dry. The physical pain of being so roughly used, with no prep at all – the mental anguish of being taken at all, by anyone but Cas – even in just a dream – made me scream. The gag made the scream soundless, but Alastair heard it, nevertheless, and laughed._

_“Yes, Dean, pet, scream all you like. But I’m only getting started. And when I’m through, you’ll remember your place, and be happy to serve in it once again – at my side by day, and at my feet by night.”_

_And then I woke up, just sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. I looked around, recognized our bed, the room I share with Cas, saw that Cas was asleep next to me, and I relaxed. I remember thinking, “Just another damn dream. I’m fine. Cas got me out, I’ve been free of Hell and Alastair for over a decade. Sammy killed Alastair; he’s dead – even he says so. It was just a dream. I’m okay.”_

_But I was afraid of going back to sleep. If I had to go through this dream, get past these memories, work through this part of my subconscious, in order to heal, it meant going back to Hell, at least in my head, and I’d already done that twice in two sleep cycles, one Wednesday night into early Thursday morning, one Thursday night into early Friday morning. And, when I moved cautiously to the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb Cas – my ass hurt from Alastair’s rape, because that's what that was, no denying it._

_I slid out of bed, and went to the door; I glanced back at Cas, who was still sound asleep. I figured that there was still no real threat, because Cas would never sleep through a real threat to me, so I headed to the bathroom. Once there, I brushed my teeth and used the toilet, then pulled out a towel for a shower. I pulled my pj shirt up and over my head, and gasped in pain. I looked in the mirror – and saw dozens of healing, tiny, shallow cuts, all over my torso, from neck to navel._

_I turned on the water for the shower, and waited for it to get hot. I realized I was going to have to talk to Cas about these dreams. I’d been hoping I could wait and just speak to you, Mia, about them, but if I was going to be in real danger from my own subconscious, that wasn’t something that could wait, not even for just a few days until my next appointment, and either Cas would have to shut off my REM cycle temporarily, as he’d done for Sam, or go with me when I went through my memory palace in my dreams, to keep me away from that right-hand hallway, and out of that damned room._

_So, Mia, why did I keep thinking it’s okay to turn right at that hallway intersection? Why did I keep wanting to do so? If I just turned left, it wouldn’t be an issue – I wouldn’t get to that door, wouldn’t feel so curious about what was going on inside that open doorway that I can’t see through. And why is there an intersection at all? What’s up ahead, if I chose to just go straight? Why turn at all? From what Cas told me about Sam’s memory palace, it was all just one long corridor, except where an area had been carved out for Sam’s memories of The Cage – that was the only intersection. Do all memories of Hell rate an intersection? Did that mean going straight, or to the left – one or the other – would get me to my memories of Purgatory, and Benny? It would be good to see Benny again. Though not necessarily to have to go back to Purgatory to do it._

_I realized that my_ _own subconscious couldn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, but it could reveal things that I’d hidden from himself, things I’d forgotten or repressed. That’s when I thought that I better write out as much detail as possible – what I did, what I saw, what Alastair said, and then go back through it, and try to figure out what my dream was trying to tell me to remember, figuring that if I remembered enough, maybe I wouldn’t have to go through any more of it? After the shower, I got dressed quickly, then headed for the kitchen, poured two mugs of coffee, doctored one for Cas, and headed back to our room. Cas was still asleep – bringing him coffee was just self-preservation. We had a bit of cuddle time, then Cas asked what was wrong, so I told him about both dreams, and showed him all the little cuts. He agreed that they might be a physical manifestation of my subconscious mind, but a dangerous one._

_Shortly after that, I was packing up to get on the road, and Cas came in with his own luggage for our weekend trip. I had assumed he was going to fly up with the other angels on Saturday morning, so it surprised me when he announced that he was riding with me. He said it was because he likes spending time with me, but I think it was really concern. Cas doesn’t like it when I’m troubled or in danger, especially when he can’t fix it._

_We got out on the road, and then Sam got a call from a sheriff friend of ours, Jody – I’ve told you about her before, Mia – up in Sioux Falls. She wanted to let us know that it wasn’t a good weekend for me to be there, and to ask us not to come. Gabe flew after us to tell us, so I pulled over. Then I thought of using Donna’s hunting cabin in Minnesota for the meeting, so I made a quick call to Donna – I’ve told you about her, too – and made those arrangements while Gabe was still there, so he could fly back to Sam, Balthazar, and Hannah, and let them know the change in plans._

_We got back on the road, and around noon, I suggested stopping for lunch. Cas, of course, wasn’t hungry, so then I suggested that I just run in and get something to go, and he could drive while I ate. He gasped at the idea that I would let him drive Baby. I pointed out that she was going to be half his, and of course, he hadn’t realized that marrying me might have some tangible benefit – it’s not like Cas cares anything for money, after all. But he was so happy, and it felt good to have something tangible that I could give to Cas, something valuable, that means as much to Cas as it does to me. A last name, and half my car. I told him that “I don’t have much, Cas, but what I have is yours to share.” I mean it. There isn’t anything I have that I wouldn’t willingly give to Cas. But then, I’ve never had a problem with giving to others. It’s taking things for myself that’s always been my problem._

_Cas called Amara to let her know about the change in location from the diner’s parking lot while I waited for my food, and I came back out while he was still on the call. We got back on the road with him driving as soon as he hung up. I ate while Cas drove, every now and then looking over at him, and realizing that I’d never let Cas behind the wheel before, and I had no idea why not. Cas is a competent, experienced driver. I’ve let Sam drive her. Hell, I taught Jack **how** to drive in her. But I had never let Cas, and I feel so badly about it, because, if how his face looked was any indication, he’s wanted to for a really long time, and never expected to get the chance. One more thing that I have to make up to Cas. One more reason to feel guilty. _

_Like I need any more of those._

***

**_[Dean and Cas are driving to Minnesota for a meeting with Amara at Donna’s hunting cabin. Along the way, they stop for dinner at a diner, and Dean asks Cas to read the above journal entry and give his perspective on it. Certain parts of the story not pertaining to that discussion have been omitted here.]_ **

By 5:00, Dean was looking for a place to stop for dinner. He saw a sign for a likely place, and pointed it out. “Hey, Cas, let’s swing in there. I’m getting hungry again, you could use a break… and I could use an objective eye on my journal entry. I’d like you to read about my dream, get your perspective on what you think my subconscious is trying to say.”

Castiel glanced over at him. “Of course, Dean, if you want me to read your journal entry, I would be happy to.” He took the next exit, as the sign had indicated, and found the restaurant with little difficulty. …

Dean opened the notebook to the correct page, and slid it over to Cas’ side of the table. “You have an open invitation, Cas, to read any or all of my journal at any time; but for right now, I’d like you to start with what I wrote in the car this afternoon, which is this page and the next two.”

“All right, Dean. I’ll get started. When the waitress comes over, just order me a cup of coffee, will you?”

“Sure.” Dean signaled to the waitress with a smile, as Cas began to read. …

Dean relaxed in the booth while Cas focused on the page before him.

***

“Dean. When you told me about the dream, earlier, you told me about the cutting that Alastair did on you, and you showed me the wounds on your chest. But you didn’t mention that in your dream, he’d raped you, and that when you woke up, you could feel that, as well.” Cas looked concerned.

“Didn’t I? I wasn’t intending to hide it from you. I didn’t realize I hadn’t said, Cas.”

“We’ve talked before about your time in Hell, but we haven’t gone very in-depth about the types of torture you endured; I didn’t really want to know, didn’t think I needed to know, and I didn’t want to bring up what obviously had to be a painful – in more ways than one – experience for you, so I never asked. And you never mentioned. So now I have to ask, Dean. Did Alastair rape you in Hell? Did you become his sex slave? Is what he said in the dream true?” Cas asked. “Let me be clear, my heart – I’m not asking out of prurient interest, nor because it will in any way change how I feel about you; no matter what you tell me, Dean, I love you, always. But if your subconscious is trying to tell you something, I need to know if what it’s saying is really true, and relevant.”

“Yeah, no, I understand, Cas. I’m not taking what you’re saying badly. I asked you to read it and give me perspective, and you can’t do that without all the facts. So, yeah, it’s not my favorite subject, and I don’t enjoy talking about it, but you need to know. Yes. Yes, to all of it, to whatever you’re asking, thinking, imagining.” Dean sighed. He sat up in the booth, and stared down at the table as he spoke.

“Cas, you have to understand, it’s a whole… program. It’s never _just_ whipping, or _just_ cutting – they do it _all_. It might start out small, with degrading, demeaning comments designed to make you feel small, unworthy of affection, until you’re so desperate for a soft touch that when one comes, you’d promise anything, _do anything_ , to feel it again. It’s leaving you in the pitch-black darkness of the Pit without so much as a flicker of a flame to let you see – total sensory deprivation, until you’d do anything, say _anything_ , to have your sight back.

“It’s whipping, and cutting, and suspending you from hooks over flames until your flesh bubbles and peels off with the scent of roasting meat. It’s flaying your skin and your muscles from your bones, without the respite of unconsciousness or death, because _you’re already dead_.

“And it’s putting you back together, but maybe you don’t get put back quite right – your head on backward, or your arms bent wrong, or your knees facing outward instead of forward. And, once in a while, it’s a total cessation of all the torment, and a succubus comes and gives you pleasure – until even _that_ tips over and becomes pain, your every nerve stimulated past the point of sanity.

“They did it all to me, Cas. Everything. Beatings, cuttings, rape, sex, whipping, suspension, burning – you name it, they did it. All day, every day, for thirty years. And every day, Alastair would come to me at the end of the day. And he’d stand over whatever was left of me, and he’d laugh. Or he’d act like he was sorrowful and pitying, but he was really mocking me. But however he acted, it all had the same effect – it pissed me off, and it gave me resolve. I was not going to give in to that asshole. I was not going to give him what he wanted, I was not going to take his deal. I’d refuse and he’d rebuild me, and they’d start again.

“And then… the last day of the last year of the first thirty years I was in Hell… he came to me, and he didn’t laugh, and he wasn’t mockingly pitying, he just seemed… tired, maybe? And somehow kind. Like he was as sick of it all as I was, and maybe we could just hang out together for a minute in recognition of the fact that we were both at the mercy of forces beyond our power to understand. That day, he was something he’d never been before – sympathetic, and truly… kind. Like he was just too tired to keep being mean. It was the first real, true kindness I’d experienced since going downstairs. And that, I couldn’t resist.

“I was kneeling on the floor, not because he’d demanded it of me; I’d just slid down to my knees once he’d taken me off the rack, too tired to stand any more. And he put his hand down and cupped my cheek gently, so softly, and he smiled sweetly at me, and he offered to help me up, and I couldn’t resist it and nuzzled his hand with my nose. And it surprised him, and he huffed out a soft laugh, and he leaned down and got his hands under my arms and hoisted me up, and he got me into a comfortable chair and brought me a soft blanket.

“He said that we needed to talk. He made the offer, again, and said that we could go forward as we’d begun that evening – with gentleness and kindness between us, if that’s what I wanted. I just had to agree to his terms. I could stay off the rack, if I put others on it. I could avoid being tortured if I agreed to torture others. And I could avoid being raped by other demons, succubi, etc., if I would agree to be his. By day, his apprentice torturer, by night, his sex slave. He would be gentle, so long as I did everything he asked of me, without question, without resistance. If I failed, I would be punished – but not with rape, and not by anyone but him.

“I couldn’t take any more pain, Cas. That night, he healed me, and then he used me, but still with that gentle sweetness – inexorable, demanding, but soft. That gentle kindness and cessation of pain was so seductive. I just…. I gave up. I gave in. And by morning, I had agreed to his terms. And so, rather than being put back on the rack myself, I was given my choice of implements, and a choice of souls to torment. He watched everything I did, demanded that I be as vicious with them as he and the other demons had been with me – and I complied. I tore into them. I spilled not just a few drops, but buckets of blood that day, Cas. And in so doing, I unknowingly broke the First Seal.

“Of course, Alastair lied. He was a _demon_ ; demons lie. After that first night, and that first day, he didn’t keep up the gentle sweetness. It had been an _act_ , just like the mocking pity. It just hadn’t been an act I could immediately see through. He’d promised punishment if I failed, so he would set me up to fail him. I might as well have stayed on the rack; by day, I was a torturer; by night, I went back to being one of the tortured – with Alastair as my only inquisitor. He did keep the others off my back, but then, he’d set them on me in the first place.

“But I tried, Cas. I tried to be good. I wanted a return to that sweetness, I wanted him to go back to being gentle, as he’d been that night. I tried so hard to be what he wanted, so he would. But of course, he never did. I failed, over and over and over, until he even started making fun of me for trying, for wanting him to be anything other than vicious to me. And for the last ten years I was downstairs, he made me believe that I deserved to be there. I couldn’t please him. It didn’t matter what I did. I wasn’t enough, wasn’t good enough, never had been.

“And, as you discovered later, he was messing with my memories throughout the entire time I was down there, making me believe that my father had abused me in many of the same ways that Alastair did – hitting, slapping, etc. Cas, I have memories of John abusing me sexually, of John pimping me out – and I don’t believe they’re real, not anymore, not now that I know Alastair was creating false memories; but, at this point, _they might as well be real_ , don’t you see?

“Cas, I’m not the same person I was when I went to Hell. _I’m the person that Alastair created_. You did your best to rebuild me, but even you couldn’t undo everything he did. And I _chose_ to become that person, Cas. I _chose_ to be a vicious torturer. I _chose_ to be Alastair’s sex slave. I _chose_ to debase myself, for what I thought then would be eternity, _for a single night of his kindness_. I started the Apocalypse, because a demon acted tenderly toward me _once_.

“The truth, Cas, is that I am not, in fact, a good person. I try to do good things, and I try to do what’s right, but it’s not because I’m a good person. It’s because I’m _terrified_ , Cas. I’m terrified that I will die, and I will go back downstairs, and even though Alastair is in the Empty now, there will be someone who’ll take his place, and that I’ll go right back to suffering like I did before.

“ _And I’ll deserve it_. Every fucking minute of it.”

***

Castiel’s heart sank as he listened. He’d suspected much of what Dean had told him, but hadn’t realized that Dean had been made to feel complicit. “Dean, have you discussed your time in Hell with Mia? I mean beyond just the basic relating of the fact that you were there, the details of it, that you just told me?”

“No, Cas. I… I never told anyone what I just told you. To be fair, no one’s ever asked for specifics before. I know Sam would’ve listened, to anything I wanted to share, but I never wanted him to have to carry that burden. I… Cas, I couldn’t tell my brother that I had begged to be used like that. And I did, Cas. I begged for it. He made me beg nearly every night after I gave in. I think Sam could have excused begging not to be tortured. But I begged to _be_ tortured, to be used, to be punished for having failed my master. And I don’t think Sam would have understood. I was… I am… ashamed of it, Cas.”

Cas reached across the table and took Dean’s hand, holding it gently. Dean squeezed, and held on tightly, as if Cas’ hand was a lifeline to safety and security. “Dean. You had no choice.” Dean started to protest, but Cas cut him off. “No. Dean. _You had no choice_. You had the _illusion_ of choice – to continue, on the one hand, to be tortured in the way you began your time in Hell, or, on the other, to be tortured in a completely different way, one in which you had a hope of occasional respite, which, from what you’ve said, never actually came. In some ways, that’s a _worse_ kind of torture, having that hope. And I don’t blame you, Dean. We all crave comfort, and love, and a little kindness now and then. After thirty years of starving for a gentle touch, you got one, and it seemed like a feast. You wanted more; that’s only natural. And Alastair _knew_ exactly what your reaction to that gentle touch would be, Dean, make no mistake. He played you. He lied. You said it yourself - _he was a demon; demons lie_. You had no choice. _None_. Not really.”

Dean shook his head. He continued to hold Castiel’s hand, but avoided his gaze, keeping his eyes down and on the table between them. “No, Cas. You’re forgetting. That’s not all that I agreed to. If all I had done was agree to be Alastair’s sex slave, his pet to torture, I’d agree with you that I was blameless. But I also agreed to torture others. I did torture others. And I enjoyed it, Cas. I was good at it. Every now and then, there’d be a quiet moment when I had time to think and I’d realize anew what I was doing, and I’d regret it, be sorry for it, for them. But Cas, those moments were few and far between. Maybe Alastair screwed with my wiring, or maybe I was always messed up – but I came out of Hell hardwired as a sadist, Cas.

“I don’t engage in it for fun, not on purpose, or to get off; but I can’t deny, Cas, I’ve tortured people, demons – hell, I tortured Alastair before Sam killed him – and I still enjoy it. And agreeing to torture others so I could get down off the rack – that was a choice, a real choice, and I made it. Sam says I’m blameless because I was under duress, but I can’t agree. **_I had no right to torture other souls_** _._ No matter how much relief it gave me to be off the rack, I had no right to torture others in order to get down off of it. _That was not a deal that I had any right to make._

 _Moreover_ , I wasn’t under duress once I was out of Hell, and I _still_ , even now, make the choice to torture for information at times, even when there are other ways to get it. The other ways might take more time – there’s always a justification, an excuse, for the choice; but it is the choice I make, Cas. And yes, I feel guilty for it – later – but during? There’s nothing like it, Cas. The power, the rush. It’s addicting. It… it scares me how much I like it.

“You know, Anna tried to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, too. She said that it wasn’t my fault that I had tortured other souls in Hell. She told me to forgive myself. That was a long time ago. If nothing else, I’m consistent.” The ghost of a smile crossed Dean’s face briefly, then passed on, as if Dean had eaten something salty with an iron fork _._ …

They got up to leave, Cas carrying Dean’s notebook as they walked out to the Impala.

Once in the car, Dean again back in the driver’s seat now, Cas looked over at Dean. “You _were_ under duress, Dean. Your choices were illusory, at best. But you know the best way to tell that you were blameless in the torture that you engaged in when in Hell? The breaking of the First Seal. The requirement for the Seal to break was that a _righteous_ man had to spill blood in Hell. The definition of righteous is “morally right or justifiable; virtuous.” Thus, by definition, you cannot have been both righteous and blameworthy at the same time, Dean. Yes, its breaking was bad for the world and it allowed the start of the Apocalypse – but if you hadn’t been righteous when you spilled blood in Hell, the Seal would never have broken. The Seal did break. Ergo, you were not guilty. Your actions were virtuous.”

Dean stared at the steering wheel blankly, trying to process Cas’ words. There it was – the evidence of what everyone had been telling him for the past eleven years, for which he’d blindly sought without ever really believing he’d find it. Cas was right. Breaking the First Seal had required that he be righteous when he shed blood in Hell. Had he been to blame for what he’d done, he would not have been righteous. He’d shed blood in Hell only as a torturer, and, yet, the Seal had broken. Ergo, _he was not to blame_. The logic was sound. He couldn’t find an argument against the conclusion – except for his own feelings of guilt and shame.

Dean turned to Cas. “I get what you’re saying, and I agree that the logic holds up, but then … why do I still feel so guilty?”

“Because you _are_ a righteous man. Your actions were virtuous, but you still regret what you had to do, even though you had no choice but to do it. Even though you bear no actual blame, your regret over the consequences of your actions leaves you feeling ashamed.

“And Dean – that means you _are_ a good person. A _bad_ person wouldn’t feel guilty. A _bad_ person would have shrugged it off immediately. _You’ve_ carried the burden of regret and guilt _for eleven years_ , my heart. It’s time to let it go, Dean.”

Cas watched Dean’s face, and saw the second Dean did, in fact, start to let go of the guilt and shame that had burdened him for so long – as again, the light in his soul began to flare. The glow was so strong, so bright, the Cas couldn’t understand how the nearly 20 humans nearby in the parking lot didn’t notice it. And it was sustained, growing slowly stronger, rather than fading out or dimming quickly, as the recent flares had done. “Dean? Can you see….”

“The light? Yeah. Um, actually, yeah, I can, Cas. Is that…?”

“Your soul? No, but it’s coming _from_ your soul. What exactly do you see, my heart?”

“It’s like a glow beneath my skin, like… like I was out in the sun a little too long, and now I’ll have a good sunburn; just a dim but constant glow. It’s noticeable, if you’re looking for it, but otherwise, to most people, I’m sure it’s not obvious at all. Why? What do _you_ see?”

“To me, it’s so bright it’s almost blinding, Dean. I’m almost afraid to look directly at you, it’s like looking directly into the sun. In my true form, I could do it, but while in my vessel, I could burn out the retinas, just like any human.”

“Wouldn’t your grace heal it?”

“Well, nerve regeneration is difficult even for us. If you burn out your optic nerves by staring at the sun, it’s a good bet that an angel could eventually heal you, but it would take some time, and most angels would lose patience and take off before it was done. Healing my own vessel’s eyes would probably take a good week, if I burned them out completely. I’d still be able to see, but it wouldn’t be through my vessel’s eyes, it’d be through my grace, so everything would be odd colors and hazy.

“At any rate, Dean, this is simply more proof of the goodness of your soul. I didn’t need it, but you did. Trust me, a bad person’s soul wouldn’t light up like this.

“Can you control it? Try. Try thinking about it and consciously ask it to dim a bit.”

Dean concentrated, and soon he could no longer see the glow. “How’s that, Cas?”

“It’s better, I can look directly at you, now. Still bright to me, though. How does it look to you, my heart?”

“I can’t see it at all, now. So. I guess you were right about it flaring when I’m thinking positive.”

“Yes. So, I take it that what I said helped you?”

“Yeah, Cas. It did. It really did. Thank you, Angel.”

“You’re very welcome, Dean.”

Gabriel appeared in the back seat suddenly. “Hey, guys, you gotta find a way to keep Dean’s light under wraps outside the Bunker. Without the warding, you’re a sitting duck, Dean-o.”

“You could see it all the way back in Kansas?” Dean asked, astonished.

“Kiddo, you got a little mini-sun in your soul, and it is blazing brightly. I could tell the minute it flared, and I could tell the second you got it better under control, but you need to dim it way down, if you can. I’ll leave you two alone, just wanted to give you the heads up that your light, while very pretty, is dangerous. Bye.” Gabe vanished again.

Dean looked at Cas, a question in his eyes. Cas nodded. “Much as I love to see your light, Dean, it would be wise to hide it, for now. Keep asking it to dim, like before, until I tell you to stop.”

Dean nodded, and concentrated again. Cas watched the light’s brightness diminish until it was contained by Dean’s skin, even to angel sight. “Okay. That’s good.”

Dean took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Cas. What is this light the key to? _A mini-sun?_ What the hell, man?”

“I wish I knew, Dean. If I did, I’d tell you, but at best, I have… suspicions, that I’m not ready to share, that you’re probably not ready to hear. And I could be wrong, so I’d rather not hazard a guess, yet. Fair?”

Dean nodded, watching Cas’ face. “I trust you, Cas. Just… as soon as you know something solid, all right?”

“Of course, Dean.”

***


	11. Dean's Homework Following Session #4, Pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's doing a lot of therapeutic writing this week - continued!

**_Friday Evening_ **

_ Hey, Mia. Just a quick explanation here – the last journal entry before this one, I wrote while riding in the car (sorry for the jacked handwriting) while Cas was driving. We stopped for dinner, and I had him read it, wanting his perspective. I found what he said to be incredibly helpful and it really meant a lot to me, so I want to try to recreate at least the important parts of the conversation here, so you’ll have the context, but I won’t go as far into all the same details here as when I was discussing this with Cas; we can talk about the specifics on Tuesday. _

_ Cas asked if Alastair’s claim that I’d been his sex slave was true. It was. He asked for details, and so I told him about what I experienced in Hell – essentially, they did it all. Everything. Beatings, cuttings, rape, sex, whipping, suspension, burning – you name it, they did it. All day, every day, for thirty years. And every day, Alastair would come to me at the end of the day. And he’d stand over whatever was left of me, and he’d laugh. Or he’d act like he was sorrowful and pitying, but he was really mocking me. But however he acted, it all had the same effect – it pissed me off, and it gave me resolve. I was not going to give in to that asshole. I’d refuse, and he’d rebuild me, and they’d start again. _

_ Until the last day of the last year of the first thirty years I was in Hell… Then, Alastair came to me, but he didn’t laugh, and he wasn’t mockingly pitying, he just seemed… tired, maybe? And like he was as sick of it all as I was, and like we were both at the mercy of forces beyond our power to resist or understand. It was like he was just too tired to keep being mean. It was the first real, true kindness I’d experienced since going downstairs. He said that we could go forward with gentleness and kindness between us, if that’s what I wanted. I just had to agree to his terms, agree to be his – by day, his apprentice torturer, by night, his sex slave. He would be gentle, he said, so long as I did everything he asked of me, without question, without resistance. If I failed, I would be punished – but not with rape, and not by anyone but him. That night, Alastair healed me, and then he used me, but gently, and that gentle kindness and cessation of pain was so seductive, I gave up; I gave in; and by morning, I had agreed to his terms. And so, rather than being put back on the rack myself, I was given my choice of implements, and a choice of souls to torment. He watched everything I did, demanded that I be as vicious with them as he and the other demons had been with me – and I complied. I tore into them. I spilled not just a few drops, but buckets of blood that day. And, in so doing, I unknowingly broke the First Seal on Lucifer’s Cage. _

_ I told Cas that I’m not the same person I was when I went to Hell, I’m the person that Alastair created. Cas did his best to rebuild me, but even he couldn’t undo everything Alastair did. And I chose to become that person. I chose to be a vicious torturer. I chose to be Alastair’s sex slave. I chose to debase myself, for what I thought then would be eternity, for a single night of kindness. I started the Apocalypse, because a demon acted tenderly toward me once. The truth is that I am not, in fact, a good person. I try to do good things, and I try to do what’s right, but it’s not because I’m a good person. It’s because I’m terrified that I will die, and go back downstairs, and even though Alastair is in the Empty now, there will be someone who’ll take his place, and I’ll go right back to suffering like I did before. And I’ll deserve it. Every fucking minute of it. _

_ Then Cas asked if I had ever discussed my time in Hell with you. I explained that it had been mentioned, but that I hadn’t told you much in the way of specifics, just that Alastair had messed with my memories. I told him I’d never discussed the full details with anyone before, not even Sam. I never felt that Sam should have to bear the burden of those memories. It was enough that he knew that I had tortured others. I couldn’t tell my brother that I had begged to be used, that Alastair had made me beg nearly every night after I gave in. I think Sam could have excused begging not to be tortured, but I begged to be tortured, to be used, to be punished for having failed my master. And I don’t think Sam would have understood. I was… I am… ashamed of it. _

_ Cas told me that I’d had no choice, just the illusion of choice – to continue, on the one hand, to be tortured in the way I began my time in Hell, or, on the other, to be tortured in a completely different way, one in which I had a hope of occasional respite, which never actually came. In some ways, he said, that’s a worse kind of torture, having that hope. Cas said he didn’t blame me, because “we all crave comfort, and love, and a little kindness now and then. After thirty years of starving for a gentle touch, you got one, and it seemed like a feast. You wanted more; that’s only natural. And Alastair knew exactly what your reaction to that gentle touch would be, Dean, make no mistake. He played you. He lied.” _

_ I couldn’t agree that I was blameless. If all I had done was agree to be Alastair’s sex slave, his pet to torture, that would have been one thing; but I also agreed to, and did, torture others so I could get down off the rack – that was a choice, a real choice, and I made it. Sam and Cas say that I’m blameless because I was under duress, but I couldn’t agree. I had no right to torture other souls. No matter how much relief it gave me to not be on the rack, I had no right to torture others in order to get down off of it. That was not a deal that I had any right to make. _

_ Cas insisted, however: “You were under duress, Dean. Your choices were illusory, at best. But you know the best way to tell that you were blameless in the torture that you engaged in when in Hell? The breaking of the First Seal. The requirement for the Seal to break was that a righteous man had to spill blood in Hell. The definition of righteous is “morally right or justifiable; virtuous.” Thus, b y definition, you cannot have been both righteous and blameworthy at the same time, Dean. Yes, its breaking was bad for the world and it allowed the start of the Apocalypse – but if you hadn’t been righteous when you spilled blood in Hell, the Seal would never have broken. The Seal did break. Ergo, you were not guilty. Your actions were virtuous.” _

_ There it was – the evidence for which I’d blindly sought for eleven years, without ever really believing I’d find it. Cas was right. Breaking the First Seal had required that I be righteous when I shed blood in Hell. Had I been to blame for what I’d done, I would not have been righteous. I’d shed blood in Hell only as a torturer, and, yet, the Seal had broken. Therefore, I was not to blame. The logic was sound. I couldn’t find an argument against the conclusion – except for my own feelings of guilt and shame. _

_ I asked Cas, “But then … why do I still feel so guilty?” _

_ He replied, “Because you are a righteous man. Your actions were virtuous, but you still regret what you had to do, even though you had no choice but to do it. Even though you bear no actual blame, your regret over the consequences of your actions leaves you feeling ashamed. And Dean – that means you are a good person. A bad person wouldn’t feel guilty. A bad person would have shrugged it off immediately. You’ve carried the burden of regret and guilt for eleven years, my heart. It’s time to let it go, Dean.” _

_ And for the first time, Mia, I think it might be true. I might actually be able to believe that I am the good person that Cas has always believed me to be. That I might actually be worthy of him, and of his love. _

_ Also, we’re staying at Donna’s hunting cabin this weekend, and when we stopped off to pick up the key, Donna met Cas for the first time. She’s the first member of the extended family that we’ve told about the engagement, and she cheered and hugged us both. And then she surprised me – she told us that she considers Cas and I, and Sam, to be family, and so she had keys made for us, to both her house in Stillwater, and to the cabin – a key ring for each of the 3 of us – so that if we’re ever in the area and need a place to crash, we can use either the house or the cabin, even if we can’t reach her first (although she’d appreciate a heads-up, which, naturally, we’ll always provide). Cas’ grin was so wide when we left that I think it was probably hurting his face a little. He’s so happy with so little. I really need to do more, to give him things, to show him how important he is, that he doesn’t have to settle for crumbs. I need to give him the “whole loaf,” just as he does for me. _

_ Okay, he started the movie before I started writing, so I’m going to stop now and go watch it with him. I just needed to get this all down before I forgot something. But for once, I feel like I have something to really look forward to on Tuesday! _

***

_**Saturday Evening** _

_ After I wrote last night, Cas and I watched a movie. I guess I fell asleep toward the end of it, because I woke up in bed this morning, still fully dressed except for my boots, and Cas said he’d carried me into the bedroom and tucked me in. I woke up feeling pretty good, rested. Cas said he hadn’t really been sleeping yesterday, just resting his eyes, and that he was fully charged, ready to go.  _

_ He told me there were some things he wanted to discuss privately with Amara - theories he had about the light that were a little too “out there” to tell me, unless they turned out to be correct, and he wanted to have her confirm or deny them, if he could get her to do it. He promised to tell me, one way or the other, after they’d spoken, and I told him that I trust him, and agreed to wait until after their discussion.  _

_ Cas had gotten up early, and made coffee, so there was fresh brew waiting in the pot when we got up. He didn’t want food, so I just scrambled an egg and made a slice of toast for myself, after my shower.  _

_ Then we got busy with warding the place - busier still after Gabe, Balthazar, and Hannah showed up. Balth and Hannah helped me and Cas to paint the inside wards, while Gabe went around outside, checked the warding Cas had put up last night, and augmented it a bit. We were finished in time for me to have a sandwich before Amara arrived; the angels weren’t up for food. _

_ We had our meeting with Amara, and it went fine, on the surface, at least; she agreed to remove Lucifer and Michael from Sam’s head, and to remove them to the Cage in Hell, modified as it has been already to no longer be a torture device, and to further modify it so even Chuck can’t release them from it. She wouldn’t agree to let them help us, but she wouldn’t agree to let them help Chuck, either, so that’s something, I guess. She really is trying to remain neutral.  _

_ Then Cas asked to speak with her privately, and I and Gabe, Balthazar, and Hannah, started the process of repainting the cabin to paint over the wards, leaving them in place, but invisible. We had nearly finished painting, and I realized that I was going to have to interrupt Cas and Amara in order to paint in the dining room, where we’d had the meeting. I couldn’t imagine what they still had to talk about - it had been hours since the meeting had broken up. But when I knocked and went in, they were gone. _

_ Apparently right around that same point in time, Gabe had an epiphany of his own - he realized that Amara’s reason for giving Lucifer the choice of the Empty or the Cage in the first place had been to have the option of keeping the power of an Archangel in the universe, without having to recreate it, which only Chuck knew how to do. That meant that Lucifer and Michael both retained all of their power as Archangels, and they weren’t merely ‘memories with intent’ as Lucifer has been insisting. If Lucifer was lying about that, he could have been lying about everything, about the Mark, about being on their side, about Michael’s sanity – for if Lucifer had his powers, he could certainly make it appear that Michael was sane, when, in fact, he was still loony, and no real reason has ever been given for Michael’s supposed return to mental health, either. All of which, Gabe realized, meant that Sam could be in danger, and had only Shann to guard him. It wasn’t enough. _

_ So, Gabe tried to fly to the Bunker, to get to Sam - but what he actually found was an alternate universe, where: Shann had inherited the Bunker from his deceased uncle, and invited Gabe, Sam, and Charlie Bradbury over for poker every Saturday night; Sam never went to Stanford, and hadn’t hired Shann, but knew him from going to a local college in Lawrence, Kansas, with him; and I had died, five years ago. Gabe excused himself, went to the bathroom, and then flew back here. _

_ While Gabe was off on that adventure, I was discovering that after I stepped into the dining room, Balthazar and Hannah, who had been painting the kitchen, had disappeared. I came from the dining room, through the kitchen, into the living room - just in time to see Cas and Billie, their backs to me so they didn’t see me, vanish. I couldn’t find Balth, Hannah, or, of course, Gabe, but I remembered that Billie had assigned reapers to watch over me and Sam back when I was possessed by the Apocalypse World’s Michael, and so I called out to Violet, the “evening shift” reaper, and she appeared. She was able to explain that there are multiple overlapping universes that essentially occupy the same space, though only certain entities, like God, can normally see them, and that now, for some reason unknown to Violet, they had started “bleeding” into each other, such that certain entities could now see multiple universes, as Violet now could, and some could step across the boundaries of them and end up in another universe without even realizing it - without a rift or door.  _

_ She said that Balth and Hannah were in the kitchen. I went into the kitchen; they weren’t there. Violet explained that this cabin is actually several overlapping cabins each in a separate universe, and that the kitchen that I was in wasn’t in the same cabin that Balth and Hannah were in; I had to retrace my steps, going in reverse order, to get back to the universe where they were. I did that, and found them. _

_ Shortly after that, Gabe returned, but he arrived in the universe from which Cas and Billie had vanished, so Violet could see him, and alerted me to his presence. I retraced my steps back there, and got him, bringing him back to where Balth and Hannah were waiting, so that we were all in the same place. Violet told all of us that Cas and Billie went to speak with the Cosmic Entity, but Cas wasn’t dead, he’s fine. After some discussion, and an attempt to listen in to Angel Riado, we decided that Balth would leave his vessel here and ascend to Heaven, to find out what was known upstairs about the multiple universes suddenly starting to bleed together, and that Violet would go down to Hell and speak with Rowena, who apparently became the Queen of Hell (good for Ro), to see if she knew anything about it.  _

_ We didn’t think it would take all that long for any of them to get back, but it’s been hours, and Gabe is starting to quietly lose it. He holds himself responsible for Sam, and if anything happens, it might just break him. I have to remember that he’s still fragile from what Asmodeus did to him, and from dying; he’s not the arrogant cocky daredevil Trickster Archangel he used to be, though he tries to hide it. I can see what having to wait, powerless to help Sam, is doing to him. He wants to try to go to the Bunker, to land outside and try to get in, but I have to keep reminding him that Sam needs him in this universe, and the chance of him getting lost in another and not being able to get back is too great. I know it’s the only thing keeping him here. I know it’s eating him alive, and I feel for him, but I can’t let him go haring off - Sam would never forgive either of us. _

_ So, we sit, and we wait.  _

_ *** _

_ Dear Dean, _

_ You’re 28 years old, and Jake Tapper has just sliced through Sam’s kidneys and spinal chord with a hunting knife. Sam bleeds out in your arms, and you feel him die. You can’t accept it. Your whole life has been about protecting Sam, and now you’re failed, and he’s gone. No. There has to be a way. And there is, you realize. If John could make a demon-deal for you,  **you** can make one for  **Sam** . You know how to summon a crossroads demon. _

_ You have to wait until it’s possible for you to ditch Bobby - you realize he suspects you might try this, and will stop you, if he can - but you manage it, eventually. The demon who appears gives you a hard time, and she won’t give you the standard ten years. Ultimately, she agrees to bring Sam back, but you get only one year in which to settle your affairs. You consider it well worth it. _

_ You hide it from everyone, but Bobby figures it out and confronts you with it. “He’s my brother,” you say, as if Sam is the only thing that matters - and to you, it is. But Bobby loves you both, and, while he’s glad Sam’s back, he doesn’t hesitate to tell you what an idjit he thinks you are. “How’d you feel, knowing your daddy died for you? How’s Sam supposed to feel when he finds out you went to Hell for him?” All you can think to say is, “You can’t tell him.” _

_ You manage to keep Sam in the dark for a long time, too; but eventually, he figures it out as well, and confronts you with it, and you have to tell him the truth. He becomes consumed with trying to find a way to get you out of the deal, but eventually, the Hellhound comes for you.  _

_ You’re dead for four months - which, in Hell time, which runs faster, is forty years - before being rescued from the Pit by Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. For the first 30 of the 40 years, you’re on the rack, being tortured by Alastair, Hell’s Grand Inquisitor himself. Every day, he tears you down to nothing, then rebuilds you, and, as he rebuilds you, he subtly changes you, adding false memories that condition you to eventually take the deal he offers each day - that if you’ll agree to torture others, you can get off the rack yourself. You refuse the deal each day, refusing to give Alastair the satisfaction.  _

_ Until the last day of the last year of 30 years, when Alastair seems to change, comes to you with what seems like honest kindness, like he’s just too tired to keep being mean - and he alters the deal slightly. You can get down off the rack, and not be tortured anymore, if you agree to Alastair’s terms. He’ll continue to be gentle and kind, if you agree, first, to torture others, and second, to be his sex slave/pet. As long as you are obedient, you won’t be punished, and you’ll only be punished by Alastair himself - no other demons - if you fail to obey his commands. You’re so in need of gentleness, a kind touch, that it seduces you, and you give in. You agree to his terms. You torture others, and you become Alastair’s apprentice torturer by day, his slave by night.  _

_ Of course, the deal is a lie - he constantly sets you up to fail, demanding things of you that you cannot possibly supply, in order to be able to continue to punish you. He’s never actually gentle or kind to you again. But you have the impossible hope that if you beg, if you try, you’ll be rewarded, so you do try. You do beg. You beg your Master to use you, to punish you, to rid you of the flaws for which he punishes you, so that you won’t need to be punished. You beg to be punished for those flaws. And of course, he does punish you. Right up until Castiel finally rescues you - ten years (in Hell time) later. _

_ You don’t know it’s Cas, then. You wake up buried, six feet deep, in a pine box. You don’t know where you are, how you got there, or how much time has passed. You struggle out of the grave, and walk until you find a gas station / convenience store that’s closed. You grab a bottle of water and down it. You see the date on a newspaper, and learn that four months have passed, and it’s now September. You take some money from the register, and as you’re cleaning it out, the radio switches on, then the television behind the counter does the same, both playing static. There’s a high-pitched ringing noise that quickly becomes unbearable. You hit the floor as the windows and all the glass in the place shatter around you. As quickly as it started, the noise stops, and the radio and TV switch back off. You shake your head to clear it.  _

_ You find a phone booth outside, and drop a dime to call Bobby, but, of course, he doesn’t believe it’s really you. You see a car parked next to the store building, and hotwire it. You drive to Bobby’s, but showing up on his doorstep doesn’t make him believe it’s really you, either. He suspects that you’re a shapeshifter, or a revenant - until you cut your arm with a silver knife to show him you’re not. He splashes you with holy water, just in case, but when you just wipe your eyes, a tad annoyed, but with no other ill effects, he finally believes, and gives you a hug. “Damn glad to see ya, boy.” _

_ And that encapsulates your relationship with Bobby, doesn’t it? You’re gone, dead, in Hell, for four months, and as soon as you’re able to prove it’s really you, he simply accepts that you’re back, and is glad to see you, no other questions asked. Of course, he wants to know what happened, but he accepts it when you tell him that you don’t know how you got out. It’s you. He trusts you and believes in you, absolutely.  _

_ This is all to point up the contrast between your relationship with Bobby, on the one hand, and John, on the other. John gave you the crumbs of his attention, almost none of his care, never really trusted you, and never acted like he believed in you. Bobby never held back from caring for you, showed you exactly how he felt about you, always trusted you, and always believed in you.  _

_ John was the sperm donor who dragged you around and neglected you. Bobby was the father you needed, and thank goodness for him. Just remember that a lot of what you think you remember about John right now, at 29, fresh out of Hell, isn’t true, but rather was implanted, false memories, courtesy of Alastair. Try not to judge either John or yourself too harshly. _

_ Bobby helped you summon Castiel. The first time you met Cas, you stabbed him with Ruby’s demon-killing knife, thinking he was some kind of demonic monster. It had no affect whatsoever; Cas simply pulled it out, looked at it, vaguely amused, and told you “we need to talk, Dean.” That was the start of a beautiful relationship, but it took the two of you eleven years to pull your heads out and admit your feelings for each other. _

_ Dean, at 41, I’m no less a hothead than I was - you are - at 29; no less rash or impulsive. But falling in love with Cas wasn’t impulsive. Admitting my feelings for him wasn’t rash. I really wish Bobby could be here to see us finally together, and happy. I know he’d be pleased. I think 29-year-old me - you - would be, too. _

_ Dean _

_ *** _


	12. Dean's Homework Following Session #4, Pt. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's doing a lot of therapeutic writing this week - continued!

**_Sunday afternoon_ **

_At the end of my last journal entry, we were waiting. Cas and Billie had gone off to the Empty, Balthazar had gone to Heaven, and Violet had gone to Hell, all to find out what they could about the multiple universes bleeding through to this one suddenly. They’d all been gone for hours longer than we had expected they would be, and we’d had no word from them. Gabe was starting to unravel from worry for Sam. I was only barely holding it together, myself._

_Then Balthazar returned from Heaven. Inias (who is currently holding down the fort upstairs for Cas) didn’t know anything about the bleed-through situation, but was quick to grasp the consequences that it could have for Heaven. Heaven in our universe has sufficient space for our universe’s souls, but not for souls for other universes. If only one person were to go through a bleed-through spot from another universe, end up in ours, and then die, that might be all right, but if many people died here, not belonging to this universe, our universe’s Heaven would start to fill up, and once admitted, it would be too hard to sort through who belonged, and who didn’t. So, Inias closed Heaven, as a precaution, as soon as Balthazar had left, figuring that it was better to leave a few souls temporarily in the veil than to make mistakes about who got into Heaven here in this universe._

_Balthazar asked if I’d heard from Cas yet, and I hadn’t, so I tried his cell phone again. This time, he answered. He and Billie were at the Bunker, and they were safe, along with Sam, Shann, and Sam’s reaper-observer, Alicia. Although Amara agreed to remove Lucifer and Michael from Sam’s memory palace, they are reportedly still in residence._

_But Cas and Billie weren’t the only ones to return from the Empty; while there, they found_ **_another_ ** _Lucifer, and they brought him back with them. Once here, it developed that the form in which this Lucifer was appearing was an illusion, which he had to shed, and then he needed a vessel through which to channel his powers. The Bunker was excessively warded, and they couldn’t get in without using Lucifer’s powers to strip the wards, so Cas let him in, and they are again sharing a vessel. Fortunately, this Lucifer is also no longer corrupted by the Mark, and he is letting Cas drive - Cas can access Lucifer’s powers, while Cas remains in charge of the vessel. Lucifer is awake and listening, and apparently occasionally making suggestions to Cas, but otherwise being passive, calm, and helpful._

_Once they had the Bunker open, Gabe flew there to be with Sam. Gabe, Cas, and Lucifer worked together to clear the Bunker of spots where alternate universes were bleeding through to this one, and then Cas flew back to the cabin to be with me, and went around the cabin using Lucifer’s powers to shore up the bleed-through spots in the cabin, as well._

_By the time Cas arrived, I was asleep on the couch in the living room. I woke up this morning in the bed we’d shared the night before, and for a moment upon awakening, I felt lost. Then I realized he was lying beside me, waiting for me to awaken, and I felt whole. Cas hadn’t slept, but his own grace was fully recharged and he had Lucifer’s to draw on as well, so he didn’t need to sleep._

_We talked about calling Jody and Donna, warning them about the bleed-through situation, and about Cas possibly flying up to Sioux Falls later on, to tell Claire about us being engaged. We’re assuming that I still can’t be there, but Cas is not now, nor has he ever been, wanted by the Secret Service or on the FBI’s 10 most wanted list. They may think I’m dead, but those agents know my face, and presumably my connection to Bobby Singer and Sioux Falls. They don’t know Castiel. He’s safe to go; I’m not. And I don’t want to wait to tell Claire. Maybe he could go up and bring her back to the Bunker, though. I’ll ask him. It would be nice to tell her together._

_We got up, I got some coffee in me, we finished cleaning up the cabin, we packed up the car, and then Cas and Balthazar waited in Baby while I did a final sweep - made sure the coffeemaker and stove were turned off, we got all the trash, we had repainted everything properly and completely covered the warding, etc. - basically made sure that we were leaving the cabin better than we found it. And then we got on the road. I was driving, Cas sitting next to me, watching for bleed-through spots that needed to be fixed before we drove through them accidentally, Balthazar lying down in the back seat, passively lending his power to Cas._

_We stopped for lunch - for me, at least; the angels just drank coffee, as usual (I’m surprised there’s no Starbucks up in Heaven, what with these guys being so addicted to caffeine) - and I told Cas that if he wanted to drive after lunch, he could, but that if it was going to be too difficult to drive while simultaneously watching for and fixing bleed-through spots, then I could keep going._

_Then he apologized to me for yesterday - for going off with Billie, and for letting Lucifer in. He said that Balthazar had pointed out to him that his actions could be seen as him being reckless, him going off and doing his own thing without thinking about how his actions might impact others. I said that he couldn’t have checked with me about whether or not to go with Billie to the Empty before they left - the reason they left was that they couldn’t find the rest of us - and that faced with the excessive warding they found on the Bunker, which made it impossible for them to get in to check on Sam, using Lucifer’s powers was the only reasonable solution, and to do that, he’d had to become a conduit. I got it - there was no need for him to apologize, because there was nothing to forgive._

_The whole conversation made me realize how often I had previously gotten angry at Cas, yelled at him, or, worse, walked away from him, because he’d taken a reasonable action under the circumstances at the time. Sure, some of those actions had backfired, but looking at them from his perspective, he’d always tried to do the right thing. Cas only ever wants to help, and I’ve screamed at him for it so often that now he thinks he needs to apologize just because he used his best judgment, even when it hasn’t backfired. And apparently, his friends feel a need to counsel him to do so - to tell me he’s sorry before I can lay into him, to hopefully defuse my temper before I light into him again._

_I think I actually astonished him, and Balthazar. I don’t like that my reaction was surprising to them, but I understand why it would be. I like to think that’s progress, on both counts._

_I had so much anger inside of me, for so long. I lashed out so often, so much, for all the wrong reasons, and at all the wrong people, especially Cas. I see now how much damage that anger did, not only to me, but to all those around me, everyone I love, and I’m so sorry for it, but I’m not going to wallow any longer in the misery and shame that regret and remorse could engender. I refuse to drag myself back down into that morass of bad feelings. I see it, I acknowledge it, and now, I’m going to let it go. Because that’s the healthy thing to do._

_I could tell Cas that I’ll be different going forward, but he’ll have to_ **_see_ ** _me actually_ **_being_ ** _different, every time, not just once, in order to believe it. There’s no point in saying the words, when consistent action will speak more loudly anyway._

_The only words that are important now are the positive happy words like, “I love you,” “I want you,” and “I need you.” Oh, and “so, do you want to drive?” Because letting Cas drive makes Cas happy, and making my angel happy makes me happy._

_I like being happy. I think I forgot that, somewhere along the way._

_***_

_Dear Dean,_

_You’re 33. You’ve lost your mother at age 4, your biological father at age 28, and now you’re losing your second father. Bobby is dying, shot in the head by Dick Roman while you, he, and Sam were escaping in a van from a Leviathan stronghold._

_You and Sam got Bobby to the hospital, but he sank into a coma; his brain is swelling. They rush him off for tests; you and Sam wait in terror at the prospect of losing Bobby. Eventually, he’s wheeled back into the trauma center, but you and Sam are out in the hall while they continue to work on him._

_A nurse comes to tell you both that you can see him, but warns you that you’ll probably just be saying goodbye. He can’t survive. You take a moment to steel yourself; you don’t want to waste time with Bobby in useless emotion. You go in by his bedside._

_He wakes for a moment. The nurse is astonished. He gestures for something to write with, and you give him a pen and some paper. He writes some numbers, then he looks up at you, at Sam. He smiles fondly, and says just one word: “Idjits.” And then the EKG flatlines; he’s gone._

_But that’s not the last you’ll see of Bobby. He refuses to go with the reaper that comes for him, and grounds himself in his old silver flask, which he knows you love. Of course, you keep it, unwilling to let go of Bobby completely._

_You and Sam give Bobby a hunter’s funeral, burning him in a pyre. So, when papers start moving around, helpfully leading to an answer Sam’s been looking for, you dismiss out of hand the notion that it might be Bobby’s ghost. You also dismiss it when a book falls from a desk, leading you to a business card Bobby had hidden away for the exact person you need to speak to to get help for Sam._

_It’s Garth who realizes that Bobby is haunting the flask, after taking an EMF reading that clearly establishes some kind of spirit centered in it. You don’t believe it. You almost leave the flask behind in a motel room, but you remember it at the last second and go back for it._

_Later, an old friend of Bobby’s, yours, and Sam’s - Annie Hawkins - disappears. She was supposed to meet you and Sam for lunch, but doesn’t show. You and Sam follow her trail to the Van Ness House, long reputed to be haunted. You have the flask in your pocket, so Bobby tags along, and he sees Annie’s ghost, trapped in the house. A couple ghosts who have been there a while give Bobby and Annie tips on how to materialize and move things - either by getting very angry and using the rage, or by being very calm to gather power - and Bobby is finally able to make you and Sam see him._

_Bobby explains to you and Sam what he discovered about Roman’s plan to turn humans into passive livestock for the Leviathans to eat. The explanation is interrupted when you receive an email sent automatically by Frank Devereaux’s hard drive in response to it being hacked; the email gives the hacker’s location - Richard Roman Enterprises, the headquarters of the Leviathans. Bobby suggests finding a way of getting the flask inside the building, but you and Sam decide to find the hacker, instead. You meet the hacker, Charlie Bradbury, and she agrees to help. She leaves to return to her workstation at Roman’s building, but before she goes, Bobby sneaks the flask into her purse. He watches while she undertakes the mission, and when Dick Roman discovers her doublecross and chases her through the building, Bobby slows him and the guards down, allowing Charlie to escape, but also injuring her._

_Later still, Bobby’s need for revenge against Roman causes him to snap; he possesses a hotel maid to be able to go after Roman on his own. When Sam tries to stop him, Bobby tries to strangle Sam for interfering, but at the last moment, sees the maid’s reflection and realizes what he’s become. He abandons her body. He comes to you and tells you that, while he’s regained control, it’s likely only temporary. He asks you to melt down the flask so he’ll have to move on. He says you should kill Roman, but because Roman’s a literal monster, not to seek vengeance. He makes you promise that when you eventually die, you’ll move on and not try to stay in the world as a spirit, as he did. You and Sam melt the flask and watch Bobby go up in flames._

_While it meant losing Bobby twice, being haunted by him also meant that you got something from him that you never got from John - closure. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to John, not until years later, and because John died in a demon deal with Azazel to save your life, you had a tremendous case of survivor’s guilt over it. With Bobby’s death, although you were, of course, saddened by it, you knew you were not responsible for it. Roman was. Bobby’s subsequent haunting of his flask gave you time to say a proper farewell, and when you melted down the flask, it was at Bobby’s own request, something he needed, with which you could feel you helped him. No guilt necessary._

_The constant need I feel to compare and contrast John with Bobby seems repetitive even to me, but I am still so conflicted by my feelings for John, even now. There’s no such conflict in my feelings about Bobby. I both love and hate John, simultaneously. With Bobby, there’s only love. I both miss John, and feel relieved that he’s gone, knowing that I’d never be free to live my life the way I want to if he were still here. With Bobby, I just miss him, and know that he’d accept whatever I chose, so long as it made me happy. John would likely disapprove of my relationship with Castiel. Bobby would be happy for us. John never met Cas - he died before we learned of the existence of angels, and the role that Sam and I were supposedly destined to play in the Apocalypse. Bobby knew Cas, and had accepted him as family; though he never got to see us actually together, I know he’d be pleased. Pleased that I took a risk, and pleased that it was with Cas._

_Dean, for all intents and purposes, Bobby_ **_was_ ** _your father. I know you mourn him, but don’t get lost in your grief. You have things to do. You know that he loved you; he knew that you loved him. Let him go._

**_Burn the flask_ ** _. And when your own time comes, don’t seek a flask of your own. Keep your promise, and move on. But until then, remember that people love you. Let them in. Love them back. Tell them how you feel._

_I wish that I had told Cas how I felt about him when I was the age you are now…. I didn’t. That’s on me._

_But I have told him, now. That’s how I know how much better life could have been. Because it’s so much better now._

_You’ll get here, eventually. Let yourself believe it._

_Dean_

***

**_Monday afternoon_ **

_I wrote my last journal entry and letter to myself in the car on the way back to the Bunker from Donna’s cabin yesterday afternoon, so, I apologize again for the messy handwriting - hopefully it’s legible enough._

_We got back around 6 pm, and Sam wasn’t feeling well. Gabe was taking care of him, and had asked Hannah to ask Cas if he’d run Shann home, watching out for bleed-through spots on the way. Poor Shann had been here, working nearly straight through, I guess, since early Saturday morning, when he was supposed to have the whole weekend off. So, Cas agreed to go with him (in Shann’s car, so Shann could drive himself back to work today, and then Cas could just fly back from Shann’s apartment building), and they took off right away._

_I went and started a load of laundry, then went to our room to put stuff away. I didn’t think, I just closed the door. So, when Cas got back, he knocked. I’ve told him before he doesn’t need to knock, and I said it again. He reminded me that he’s carrying Lucifer, and figured I wouldn’t want him to just walk in “and give Lucifer an eyeful” if he didn’t knock. He asked if I wanted him to go back to his old room, which we’ve been using for storage since he moved in with me, because of Lucifer. I thought about it, but decided no, I’d rather have Cas - and Lucifer - with me, where I can keep an eye on them, both. Cas and Lucifer both found that vaguely amusing - what could I really do if Lucifer decided to take over? - but I think Cas appreciated that I’d try. Hey, if nothing else, I could ask Gabe for assistance. Lucifer then went to sleep, so it was just me and Cas._

_Cas said Lucifer offered to move into Shann, purely to help with the research Shann’s currently working on, and then whether or not Lucifer would stay there once the research was done would be up to the two of them. Apparently, Shann’s considering it, but isn’t quite sure he wants to risk it. Cas says Lucifer’s unoffended, completely understands, respects Shann for wanting to ask others what they think, called it “doing his due diligence.” He’s not trying to persuade or manipulate or trick Shann into being his vessel, and Cas says it seems to him like it’s a genuine offer, especially since Lucifer said he’d still help with the research even if Shann said no. He just thought it would be easier to help if they were able to talk directly, instead of through Cas. If true, that’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever heard of Lucifer doing._

_Both Cas and I were getting tired - Cas actually yawned - but the clock said it was only 7:15, and it wasn’t like we’d had a particularly active day. It was a little stressful dealing with multiple universe bleed-through and driving back from Minnesota, but it wasn’t like some days we’ve had, where we took out a whole nest of vamps then had to drive 18 hours home. Based on our “usual definition” of stressful, it was an easy day - so I couldn’t figure out why I felt so exhausted._

_I needed to call Jody and Donna to warn them about the potential for losing people through bleed-through spots, so I called Jody. Turned out she was just about to call me when her phone rang. I told her about the multiple universe situation, and said Cas would come up there to fix any bleed-through spots he could find. Then she told me that it appears that the clocks have stopped - all of them - as of 7:15 pm. The reason we were so tired when it was “only 7:15” is that it was not, in fact, 7:15. It was some time well after 9:30 (we know that because Claire and Jody had been watching a movie that runs longer than 2 hours, and when they had started it, the clock already said 7:15), and we just hadn’t noticed that the clock wasn’t actually moving._

_Figuring there was nothing we could really do about it right then, we went to bed. Sam got everyone up and moving this morning with a call for a meeting about it. I asked Gabriel to check to see if the Earth was still rotating - I was a bit snarky about it, to be honest: “You can still fly, right?” and he took off to do so. Billie apparently went to Colorado to check with the guy who runs the atomic clock project for the government; he confirmed that even the atomic clock isn’t working properly, but yes, time continues to move forward; he said the cesium atoms they use for the clock haven’t stopped resonating - and everything else obviously continues to move, we’re not all frozen in an actual time stoppage - it’s more that the machines that would normally count the resonations have stopped working - in every clock, everywhere, at the same time, so that although time is still moving, we can no longer measure it. Which is weird enough._

_This seems like something that really only a god could do, so I’m personally betting that it’s our not-so-friendly friend, Chuck. I could be wrong. He said, through Cas’ friend, Kathy, that he wants to end the fighting, and this would be an odd way to go about it. But of the other entities we know of with the “juice” to do this kind of thing, I can’t think of one that would have a motive to do it. With Chuck? Well, Sam did shoot him. We know he’s done some spiteful things in the past. Just sayin’, I don’t think we can count him out. Being that it probably IS something only a god could do, there's probably nothing that I can do to fix it; yet I still have this odd sense that I ought to be doing something about it. I have no notion of what that would be, exactly, but... something. I can't save everyone, and I can't fix every problem, and not everything is my responsibility. Rationally, I know that; but I still have this niggling sense of... failure? Impending doom? I'm not even sure how to describe it._

_I just realized that I wrote a letter to Amara, but didn’t write one to Chuck. Seems like an odd omission. I never wrote to Lucifer, Michael, or Metatron, either, and it’s not like they had no impact on my life. I mean, Lucifer probably had more of an impact on Sam, really, but he impacted me, as well; without Luci, we wouldn’t have Jack, after all. It’s not like Alastair, to whom I deliberately chose not to write, because he had such an impact I didn’t want to explore it further. I just didn’t even think of them when I was writing the letters, and now it seems strange to me that they could have slipped my mind. At some point, I guess I should go back and write to them, huh? (Yes/No, Mia?)_

***

_Dear Dean,_

_You’re 23. Sam’s first year at Stanford should be nearly over. You and Dad have been working a bunch of cases in a college town in rural Ohio, and you met a girl. You even think she’s THE girl. You fall hard for Cassie Robinson, and you break about a hundred of Dad’s rules. You sneak out to see her, repeatedly. If Dad heads for the bar in the evening, you head for Cassie’s dorm to pick her up and take her out. It’s not even so much about the sex, though the two of you are doing that, too; you really fall in love with her. And finally, it comes to the point where you can’t stand to tell one more lie, make one more evasion, one more omission - and you tell her the truth about what it is you and Dad do. You’re not roaming the country working construction, you’re hunters of supernatural creatures. She doesn’t believe you. She thinks you’re lying. She thinks you’re trying to break up with her by telling her such a horrible lie that she won’t want you around, and she’s hurt. You’re hurt, too, because she refuses to listen. She’s the first person outside of Dad and Sam and Bobby that you’ve ever tried to talk to about hunting, and she just will not hear it. In her mind, either you’re lying, or you’re insane, and she’s not sure which is worse. She pushes you away, tells you to leave and not come back. You insist that you’ll be back at some point. You’re not sure that you believe it even as you say it._

_You’re 27. You and Sam are on the road, looking for Dad, trying to figure out where he went and what he’s doing, with very few clues, and working cases as you go. You stop for gas and get an odd phone call - from Cassie. You’re not even sure how she’s still able to reach you, but she found your number somehow, and she’s asking for help. Hunter help. She’s back in her hometown in Missouri, living at home and working as a reporter for her town’s only newspaper. People are dying, apparently run off the road, and she thinks her father’s next. She’s right. In the course of solving the case of the haunted “ghost truck,” as you and Sam call it, you and Cassie get back together, and you fall right back under her spell, right back in love with her. But she’s still distrustful, angry that you left even though she told you to go, and even though you make love, she pushes you away again. When you and Sam get back on the road, you tell her you’ll be back for her, but even then, it feels like a lie to you. It is. You never see her again. Even on the few occasions when you and Sam cross the country and end up nearby, you don’t stop, you don’t call. There’s no point. Cassie doesn’t believe in you, and you can’t believe that you’d end up happy with her. You never say it aloud, but you know it in your bones. Love requires trust, and Cassie never trusted you with her heart. And without that, there’s just no point in continuing to try. So, you don’t._

_A couple of weeks prior to Cassie’s call, you meet Layla Rourke at the faith healer’s tent where Sam takes you after you’re electrocuted on a hunt so badly that it does severe damage to your heart. You’re healed, but then you discover that it’s no miracle; it’s a rogue reaper, taking the damage done to the person being “healed” and putting it into a healthy stranger, who then dies instead. You and Sam discover that the reaper is controlled by the faith healer’s wife, and put a stop to it. Layla, who has a rare form of brain cancer, is not healed as a result. But her faith in miracles and in God is unshaken, and you come to admire her attitude toward life. She tells you, “if you're gonna have faith... you can't just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don't.” You ask what she’ll do now; she shrugs and says that “God works in mysterious ways…. Goodbye, Dean.” She gets up to leave, and before she opens the door, you tell her, “Well... I'm not much of the praying type... but... I'm gonna pray for you.” She smiles, and says, “Well... there's a miracle, right there.” She then slips out the door. You don’t really have a relationship with Layla, but you know that if she hadn’t been so ill, if you’d met under different circumstances, she is someone that could have been special to you. You never see her again, but you are reminded of her often. And when you’re having a bad day, and someone, even Castiel, starts to tell you that “God works…” - you cut them off. “If you say ‘in mysterious ways’ I swear I will end you.” And that’s born out of your frustration that you couldn’t save Layla. You have a problem with the concept that you can’t save everyone, Dean. No one can._

_Although Cassie and Layla are not the only women you’ll ever love, they set the bar - and they set it fairly high. They are the women by whom you measure all others. Not Mary, your mother, who you lost too early in your life to really remember properly. Not Robin or Amanda, the two girls who you briefly dated in high school who meant something to you. No. Neither of them meant as much to you as Cassie and Layla. Cassie was the first woman you had something with on a long-term basis, the first woman to whom you really lost your heart, the first woman for whom you felt it was worth breaking Dad’s rules. Layla wasn’t in your life long-term, but her innate sweetness, light, and faith, so clear and so deep, struck you so deeply that she stayed with you in your active memory for a very long time, and her impact was felt more deeply than others with whom you had a longer relationship._

_You don’t meet Castiel until you’re 29, and by then, the lessons of your time with Cassie and Layla have been internalized. You need someone who believes in you, someone with a pure, clear, unshakeable faith in goodness, if not God, someone who loves you, trusts you, wants only the best for you. And Cas meets all the requirements. But by then, you’ve been to Hell - he pulls you out - and you don’t believe you’re worthy of the love of an Angel of the Lord. You don’t believe he could ever want you. So, you don’t even acknowledge to yourself that Cas is probably the only entity in your life who could measure up, and with the patience to put up with you. So, for eleven years, until you’re 40, you long and you pine and you dance away from it in your mind, trying not to get hurt… until one night, Cas finally breaks down enough to admit that he’s in love with you - and the wall of conflicting emotions you’ve built up in your mind comes crashing right down, and you admit that you’re in love with him, too._

_Thank you, Dean, for having chosen such wonderful women to love. Without Layla and Cassie, I don’t know that I could really fully appreciate Castiel, and what it means to have him in my life._

_Dean_

_***_


	13. Dean's Homework Following Session #4, Pt. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's doing a lot of therapeutic writing this week - continued!

**_Tuesday Morning, Before Session_ **

_So, after my last journal entry yesterday afternoon, Cas flew up to Sioux Falls and got Claire. He told Jody about the engagement while he was there, but left it a surprise for us to tell Claire together. He brought her back with him and we sat her down for a “serious discussion” - she looked so worried at the start, I almost laughed. But I didn’t, just assured her that everything was good. Then Cas started in by telling her that after Jimmy died, he’d felt an obligation to her, and he thinks that’s why she rejected him, then; she could feel that there was no emotion behind that base obligation, and she didn’t want anything from the entity wearing her father. But since then, as they’ve learned more about each other, he’s come to love her, and he hoped that she knew that. Bless her, she said that she did, and that he’d now been in her life longer than Jimmy had been, and taken better care of her than Jimmy ever had, and that in every way that mattered, she felt like Cas_ **_is_ ** _her father, now. He said he was glad that she felt that way, because he had a favor to ask - would she be the Maid of Honor in his wedding? She was happy, but then asked who he was marrying, and before she had the sentence out, we were both holding up our left hands, showing our matching engagement bands, and all she could say was to squeak out, “Really?” I confirmed, “Really,” and she said that was “so cool!” and jumped up and hugged Cas. Then she asked if she had to “be all girly and wear a dress,” so I suggested a tux, and she thought that was great, and hugged me, too. We called Sam in because Claire wanted a picture, and Shann snapped one of the four of us on Cas’ cell phone, and Cas sent a copy to each of us. I said it was time to start dinner, and Claire insisted on getting pizza for everyone, on her._

_After dinner, Sam and I were cleaning up, and I realized that I’d never actually asked him to be my Best Man - I’d just assumed that he would do it - so I asked, and he said he would. Apparently, he’d been waiting for me to ask. I feel kind of bad that I hadn’t, but on the other hand, at least I felt like it didn’t have to be said, that I knew I could trust Sam to be there for me, that I felt worthy enough to rely on him, and that’s progress, right?_

_Cas took Claire back to Sioux Falls, and when he got back, the stars were brilliant in the night sky. It was crisp and clear, but not terribly cold, good weather for star-gazing, so rather than coming into the Bunker, Cas called me on his cell and asked me to come outside so he could show me something. I came out, and he pointed up, and I saw the sky and knew just what he was thinking. We watched the stars for a little bit, just silently enjoying each others’ company._

_Then I asked if he wanted anyone else, besides Claire and Sam, in the wedding party, and he said he’d thought he might ask Gabe, and then we could ask Jack, together, and then everyone else could just be a guest. And I said that I thought that made sense - both of our brothers and both of our kids being our wedding party._

_Then Cas said that he’d seen this thing on TV once, where the bride and groom had people in their lives who couldn’t be at their wedding, because they’d died, or were serving overseas, or whatever, so they had put up pictures of their absent loved ones, as if the picture was taking their place in the audience. And then he asked if I wanted to put up pictures of_ **_my_ ** _absent loved ones - including Ben and Emma. I froze for a second, I think because I’m not used to having it be acknowledged that I even_ **_had_ ** _those children, or that I love them still. I know that they can’t be at the wedding - Emma’s dead and Ben doesn’t know who I am anymore - but it meant so much to me that Cas would think to suggest that, and just mentioned their names casually, like,_ **_of course,_ ** _they’re among your absent loved ones. I just said, “no, but thank you for thinking of it, Angel.” What else could I have said? I don’t have any pictures of Emma, or Ben, and it would feel odd to me to have pictures of anyone else up at my wedding and_ **_not_ ** _have pictures of the two of them._

_At that point, it was getting colder, so we went inside and went to get ready for bed. Cas, of course, doesn’t need to sleep, unless his grace is depleted or he wants to try to build some up in anticipation of a stressful event, and with him sharing his vessel with Lucifer temporarily, I wasn’t expecting him to come to bed, too. So, in case he needed something to do while I was asleep, I asked if he wanted to read my journal (I’ve had him read small parts of it already, and he’d given me some very good insights, and I want to hear what he thinks of the rest of it). But then he said he was thinking he’d lay down, too. So, I asked if he was tired - because with an archangel’s power to draw on, as well as his own, he shouldn’t be tired, so if he is, that’s a concern - and he said no, but he’d thought it would be nice to snuggle, and it has been a while since we tried a new ‘one new thing’ - and that freaked me out a bit._

_I don’t want to be intimate with Cas with Lucifer - or anyone else, either - tagging along, as it were, and I snapped at him. He asked if something was wrong, and I told him, and we got past it. He agreed that we should wait until Lucifer is no longer sharing his vessel, and he understands why I am uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have snapped, and I owe him an apology for that, but it did lead to communication, eventually. And yeah, that’s because Cas asked - but he wouldn’t have asked, before. It would have just been just another dead issue, lying between us, building a wall. Those walls are down, now, and once he did ask, I was fine with explaining. The snap was instinctual,and I need to work on that, still, but hey, we talked! Progress!_

_Then I went to bed, and Cas started reading. I had barely fallen asleep when Cas got a phone call; he went out in the hall to take it, so as not to disturb me, but the ring tone woke me, so I was up when he came back. Turned out, he went down the hall to speak with Gabe, and have him get Sam up for a discussion amongst all four of us. The call was from his friend, Kathy. She’s been hosting, well, God, and he suddenly disappeared from his vessel last night, leaving the poor guy - Chuck Shurley, author of the_ Supernatural _book series - to come up to the surface with no memory of the past ten years. Cas was concerned that they might not be safe in Kathy’s cabin, so he wanted to take Gabe and go to get them. I knew he’d be right back, there was no angst in it for me, but Sam gets a little jumpy when Gabriel does anything risky, and he was upset. His being upset then upset me, and I got mildly snappish again with Cas. I didn’t yell or raise my voice, but I kind of barked out orders and stalked off, and I know he wasn’t pleased with me (I did apologize to him for that, later). But Cas did everything right, so after I stalked off, I went off by myself to think. Why was I irritated?_

_I realized what it was, and I went back out to talk to Sam, and, sure enough, he was having a mild crisis, and asked me how I dealt with feeling unworthy of Cas, how I’d gotten past it. I told him that I haven’t. I know I’m not good enough for Castiel, but he loves me, and that makes me want to try to be good enough, and that’s all anyone can really do - try. Then Cas and Gabe came back with Chuck and Kathy, and we humans all went to bed. I don’t know what Gabe did - he went off with Sammy. Cas came back, sat down, and returned to reading my journal. When I started to write this entry this morning, I found a note from him: “Dean, I read the whole thing from start to finish, and I am honored that you trust me with so much of yourself. I am so proud of you and the progress you’ve made so far, my heart. Thank you for loving me so much, and for finally being willing to take a chance. I love you. Always, Cas.” It made me smile. And that’s everything, except for today’s assignment - my letter to future me._

***

_Dear Dean:_

_Someday, when I’m old and gray, I will take out this journal, and re-read this letter, and think back fondly on the therapy process that allowed me to admit my feelings for Castiel. He will likely be sitting right beside me, curled up, with his head resting on my shoulder, eating popcorn to try to fool me into thinking he’s human (like I can’t see right through that!)._

_I hope by then we’ll have retired completely from hunting. I might still work at restoring a car now and then. We’ll live in a house out in the country, with room for our children and theirs; Jack will come by with his kids, and Claire with hers. We’ll have hives for Cas’ bees, and he’ll have a cat that, due to my allergies, he feeds in the barn and pretends is a stray. I pretend I don’t know it’s there, but now and then, I give it a pet… after taking a Claritin._

_I hope that Sam and Gabe live somewhere close by._

_I don’t really know what else to write to you, Old Gray Me. Except this:_ **_don’t fuck it up_ ** _. Be good to Castiel, and to yourself._ **_Let yourself be happy, Dean_ ** _._

_You earned it._

_Dean_

***


	14. Dean's Fifth Session With Mia, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's next therapy session with Mia starts.

“Hello, Dean. Come in, please, have a seat.” Mia smiled in welcome as he entered her office.

“Thanks, Mia.” He seated himself on the couch, and handed over his journal. Mia thumbed through to the page where they’d last left off the week before.

“Before we get started with the journal, Dean, how are you feeling today?” 

“I feel pretty good, thanks. Things are going pretty well with Cas, Sam and Gabe seem to be doing okay, Jack had been away at a friend’s house, visiting, but he came home today, Shann seems to be working out well for Sam, so, yeah. I mean, there were odd things that happened this last week, but over all, yeah, I’d say I’m feeling pretty good.” Dean smiled.

“Good. Have you been tempted to drink at all this week?”

“No. Not once.” 

“Any sniping at Cas?”

“A little, yeah, but I caught myself, and didn’t spiral.”

“Are you feeling more comfortable in the relationship, more certain that you can depend on it?”

“Yes, I am. It’s nice. Well, except….”

“Except...what?”

“Well, Cas is sharing his vessel at the moment.”

“Oh? That’s new, isn’t it?”

“Well, it is, and it isn’t. He’s shared his vessel with this particular entity before.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Lucifer.”

“And you’re okay with this, Dean?” Mia looked startled, and Dean didn’t blame her.

“Well… to be honest, no. Not completely. I mean, I understand why Cas did what he did. I just wish he hadn’t. And now we’re kinda stuck with the situation, at least temporarily, and it does make me uncomfortable.”

“I bet. I assume you journaled about this?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to ask, Dean, if you continue to feel that it’s productive for you to come all the way across town once a week, just to have me read your journal and ask questions about what you’ve written to clarify things for my own benefit. And if you do, great, we can certainly continue to do that. But I want to offer you an alternative, if you’re open to it. It seems to me that you’ve really been doing all the work by writing down your thoughts all along, and I could just as easily keep up with your journal remotely. We could email back and forth about your journal entries, for example. And if you felt a need, you could call me, or even come in, but it wouldn’t have to be as structured as it has been. What would you think about having our sessions be by electronic means, rather than in person, Dean? Would that be of interest to you, or not?”

Dean bit his lip and worried it with his teeth a bit. “Can I think about it and let you know?”

“Of course.” Mia nodded. “It’s completely up to you, Dean, either way. I’m not trying to push you out. If you want to come in, as we’ve been doing, it’s absolutely fine.

“I also wanted to suggest that for at least one session, you might want to bring Castiel along with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Maybe. He’s read my journal, and he’s given me some pretty good feedback on parts of it already. It helped.”

“Okay. Well, think about that, too, then.” Mia smiled. 

Mia turned to the first entry after the prior session - Dean’s letter to his four-year-old self - and read it.

“May I ask, Dean, why you chose your four-year-old self to write to first?”

“It’s the earliest I can remember clearly - the day of the fire. I might be able to come up with bits and pieces, or flashes of recall before that day, but that’s my first clear memory where I know for a fact what happened and how old I was. And also because that’s the day that everything changed. When Dad went from being a sweet, loving, father who laughed and played with me, and swept me up in his arms to carry me on his shoulder, to being a dark, often drunk, neglectful son of a bitch who left me in charge of an infant so he could seek his revenge on the demon who killed our mother.” Dean studiously kept his eyes on his hands, twisting in his lap.

“You tell yourself here that you didn’t do anything wrong; that it was Azazel’s fault, not yours. But then you write that 36 years later, you still don’t really believe that. You say that ‘emotionally, I’m still you,” meaning the four-year-old version of you. You also say that ‘everyone leaves’ you. Is that still how you feel today, a week later, Dean?”

Dean shook his head. “No.” He looked up at Mia. “It isn’t.”

“Okay. Then tell me how you feel now.”

“Now, it’s more that people that I love might… wander away, but they also wander back to me. Sam left, but he came back, and stayed. Cas left, but he came back, and he’s staying. I believe in Cas, I believe in _us_ , and I trust it. So, I don’t feel so much that it’s an inevitability that everyone will leave me and I’ll be alone and abandoned, anymore. I’m not that confused, unhappy toddler anymore.”

“Excellent. That’s really good, Dean. Now, should I go on to your daily journal entry that you wrote that same day, or should I skip ahead to your next letter to yourself, and come back to the daily entries afterward? Up to you.”

“I think that it would make more sense to you if you read everything in the order in which I wrote it, Mia.” Dean grinned at her. “I made a lot of progress this week, and if you just read the letters, you’ll see it, but you won’t understand the reasons behind them.”

Mia nodded. “That makes sense. So, reading the first couple of paragraphs from your Tuesday evening entry, then, it looks like you and Cas had a little bit of an episode to work through, where he was maybe a little disrespectful of your feelings. Tell me about that, Dean.”

“Yeah. We just needed to talk it through, I think. He’s used to being, for lack of a better term, a ‘superior being,’ and he gets lost in his planning and organizing, and doesn’t listen. But when I called him on it, he _did_ listen, and he got over himself, and apologized, and actually thought about what I was suggesting, and agreed to try my suggestion out.”

“And did he?”

“Yeah. Well, he tried. I suggested that he speak with Joshua, the angel who used to be Heaven’s gardener; God used to talk to him sometimes, and I thought maybe Joshua would know how to recognize whether a particular entity really _was_ God or not. So when he came upstairs last week, while I was here, he tried to find Joshua, but it turned out that after Metatron expelled all the angels from Heaven initially, Joshua never returned, and no one has seen him since then. Cas couldn’t even find out if he was still on Earth, or if he’d died and gone to the Empty; if so, he hadn’t been brought back, and he isn’t up in Heaven, now. So, like I said, Cas tried to make my suggestion work, but there was nothing he could do about the fact that Joshua simply wasn’t there.”

Mia nodded. “And then you say here that that evening, Cas clearly did something to indicate his respect for you - he reminded you that you’re allowed to say ‘no’ if you don’t want to do something particular of a sexual nature with him, or anything that you’re not comfortable with or ready for yet.”

“Yeah. And I wasn’t even thinking that I wasn’t comfortable with what he’d proposed, it was just when he proposed it, my brain just… stopped for a second. I think that’s due to… well, I remember my dad being very homophobic, but, as you know, I have implanted memories, courtesy of Alastair, so I don’t know if that’s real, or fake. But it comes down to this - those memories conditioned me to be what my father would have thought of as ‘manly.’ And being on the receiving end of sex with another man would not be part of that. So, when Cas proposed that, it took me a bit to get past that conditioning, but I wasn’t rejecting Cas, or the idea of it, I was just… having a brain fart, basically.”

Mia laughed at the term. “A ‘brain fart’, eh? That’s a new one on me, Dean. I like it.” He grinned at her.

“And when you did get right down to it, you describe it here, and you say that it was ‘hot’ a couple of times, but you don’t really say whether or not you actually enjoyed it. Did you? Or did that conditioning interfere with your enjoyment of the act? I’m asking not out of prurient interest; if you’re reacting to conditioning you don’t want, we can work on that, but only if I know it’s happening.”

“I did enjoy it. I have to say, honestly, I didn’t really expect to. And that’s not just the conditioning, but also due to the fact that, while in Hell, I was raped and used sexually, with and without my consent, both gently and violently, depending on who was doing it and when. But Cas was… great. He was a little demanding, and very assertive, very in charge, but also very gentle, never hurt me, and at each step of the way he checked in with me, had me ask for what I wanted next. He didn’t do anything to or with me that I hadn’t asked for explicitly. And that let me relax into it. He took control in making me ask, but I had all the power.”

Mia smiled. “Cas is very smart. And sounds like he’s a rather generous lover, too.”

Dean blushed a little, but nodded.

Mia continued on to the next portion of the entry. “This is a nice conversation, in the kitchen with Sam before our last session. He sounds very supportive of you.”

“He is. But then, he and I have always had each others’ backs. The only time in his life when I didn’t support Sam, I regretted it.”

“When was that, Dean?”

“Stanford.”

“Ah.”

“I should’ve stood up to Dad, and I didn’t. And I didn’t see Sam again for just over two years. And I’m sure he thought that I hated him during that time. I didn’t, but I didn’t do enough to support him. And I’m ashamed of that, now. But, honestly, I don’t know if then I could have done anything differently from what I did do then. I was still Dad’s obedient little soldier, then. And it wasn’t like I actively supported Dad’s side of the argument, either. I just… played Switzerland.”

“Neutral. Didn’t take either side, you mean.”

“Yeah. But just like the Swiss were technically neutral but still did a hell of a lot in support of the Nazi regime… I was technically neutral, but I stayed with Dad and kept hunting with him. I know it hurt Sammy.”

“Do you think he’s forgiven you for that, Dean?”

“Probably.”

“Well, you write here that Sam told you, ‘You were supposed to just be his perfect little soldier. He didn’t pull that kind of crap with me nearly as much, and I fought back against it a lot more than you did, and I still have trouble talking about my feelings. It has to be at least one hundred times worse for you. You’re not imagining that, Dean.’ That sounds like he’s forgiving you. So, have you forgiven yourself, Dean?”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “I guess I should, huh?”

“It might help,” Mia smiled. “So, you all got together in the Bunker after our last session for a meeting, looks like, and then you went to write your journal entry. And then, at the very end, you write that you need to have a talk with Cas about where the two of you want your relationship to go, long-term, and… ‘Cas Winchester’, Dean? Anything you want to tell me?” 

Dean grinned. “Keep reading. No spoilers.”

Mia laughed. 

Then Dean blushed, and held up his left hand. “Yeah. I proposed. We’re engaged.”

“Oh, Dean! Congratulations! That’s wonderful.” Mia smiled widely, and Dean went back to looking at his hands, but his smile was just as wide.

“The, uh, well, one of the versions of the proposal speech is the next thing in the journal, I think. I wrote out two or three versions, trying to plan out what I was going to say, like you suggested, and it really did help.”

Mia turned the page to the first draft of the proposal. “Oh.” She said it softly. “That’s lovely, even for just a first draft, Dean.”

The tips of Dean’s ears were a dark red, now. He nodded. “I wanted to get it just right, though, and I didn’t think that was quite it, but yeah, even I thought it was fairly good for a first draft.”

“So, moving on to Wednesday morning. This time, the daily entry is first. Now, who is ‘Billie’?”

“Death.” 

“You know Death on a first-name basis?”

“Well, Billie used to be a reaper. I killed the original Death.”

“You... “ Mia took a deep breath. “Of course you did.”

“He wanted me to kill Sammy. Almost had me do it, too. Made me use his own scythe. But instead of hitting Sam with it, I went over Sam’s head, and kept turning, and hit Death with it, instead. And at first, nothing happened, but then, he just crumbled away into dust, and was gone. Apparently, once Death died, the next reaper to die, which was Billie, moved up to take his place. Actually, Cas killed Billie.”

Mia closed her eyes and rubbed her temples gently.

“See, Mia, this is why we kinda have to do our sessions live, I think.” Dean grinned at her.

Mia nodded, then sat up straight and opened her eyes. “Okay. Point taken, Dean. You write here that Billie ‘had a message for Sam – “You need to take the position you were born to take, and Dean needs to go the opposite way. You can both do it, and you’ll have my support” – and one for you – “your books have changed again, and you’re back to multiple options, none of them immediate.” And you indicate that you sort of know what some of that means. Why don’t you take me through that, Dean.”

“Okay. Well, as you may recall from the books, Azazel wanted Sam to lead his demon army, but he also put in motion a plan for Sam to be on the throne of Hell. Azazel either wasn’t sure he’d be able to get Lucifer out of the Cage, or if Lucifer would win the battle against Michael, but either way, he wanted to have his own candidate for the throne, and that was Sam. He put in a claim on the throne for Sam before Sam was even born. Now, of course, Sam isn’t interested, but I figure that’s what Billie was referencing in her message to him.”

“And saying you ‘need to go the opposite way’?”

“Yeah, there I’m clueless. We’ve asked, Billie won’t clarify.” 

“And your books? What’s she talking about?”

“Death has a library. Everyone has a predestined ending to their life, written by the three Fates, and those writings are put into books and collected by Death. Some of us, however, have more than one possible ending, depending on choices that we make, because we all have the ‘gift’ of free will. I apparently have a lot of choices that I could make that lead to different endings, but for a while, they all boiled down to one fate - having taken in Michael from Apocolypse World, I died as his vessel, unless I locked myself into what’s called a Ma’lak Box. Then, I’d be unable to die, locked in to the box with Michael for eternity, but he wouldn’t be able to destroy the world, either. I actually built the damn thing, but then Sam convinced me that it didn’t have to be the only option, that we’d find another way, together. And we did. And so her message to me is that my original wide variety of predestined endings, depending on the wide variety of choices, had been restored, and that I’m not slated to die in any of them, or not right away, at least.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Mia said, with dry wit.

“Yeah, I know, right?” Dean smiled wryly.

“Ah, and then you took Cas shopping, finally. I remember that you’d been wanting to do that.”

“Yeah, and it was a mess, but we finally worked it out and got him some solid good new things to wear. And while he was trying on clothes, I went and got the rings. I’d made dinner reservations, and booked us a room in a nice B&B, and it was really lovely, if I do say so myself, as a setting for a proposal.” Dean smiled softly, but looked a little proud, too.

Mia smiled. “Says here you’re ‘done worrying about what you deserve, Cas is what you want, and if it’s what he wants too, then you want to give it to him.”

Dean nodded, and looked a little fierce. “Damn straight.”

“And then you have a second draft here, which is a good bit shorter than your first.”

“Yeah. I decided ultimately that it was a little too short.” 

Mia nodded. “And next, your letter to your eight-year-old self.”

“Well, that’s really good for anywhere from eight to twelve years old. It was while I was the primary force in charge of taking care of Sammy, where Dad was taking off on his own and dumping us in crap motels for anywhere from a few days to a couple of weeks at a time with no adult supervision. We talked about that in my first session.”

“Yes. I remember.” Mia was still irritated with John Winchester. “It says here that you’ve realized that Cas is ‘the love of your life, and Sam is all for it.’ I take it that means you discussed the proposal plans with Sam?”

“Yeah. And he was, too. Really supportive.”

Mia continued to read. “And here’s the third draft of the proposal speech. It’s just lovely, Dean.” 

“Yeah, that’s the one I actually used. I was so nervous that I might not remember what I’d planned to say that I told Cas that I was going to read it, and if I couldn’t get the words out, if I thrust the piece of paper at him, he might have to finish reading it for me, and he promised that he would if it came to that but in the end, I got it all out. And he said yes.” Dean blushed a bit darker still, but smiled widely, remembering.

***


	15. Dean's Fifth Session With Mia, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's therapy session continues.

Mia smiled kindly as Dean blushed, and continued to read. “And here’s where you talk about the day of the proposal, going shopping with Cas, getting the rings, going to dinner… and you note here the beverage choices, specifically - that you had coffee, despite the restaurant having many fine whiskeys available - and you say here that ‘It wasn’t even a difficult choice. I don’t need to feel numb any more.’ Tell me about that, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “Just what it says. For a really long time, I hated my life. I hated myself. I didn’t have anything I wanted and didn’t know how to change things, and the only way I could cope with the horror of what I’d been through was to drown my sorrows - drink until I was numb and couldn’t feel anything any more. I needed to feel numb, I needed not to feel. And I don’t need that, now. A large part of that is Cas, but it’s me, too. 

“I’m making healthier choices. I’m reaching out to the people around me, instead of shutting them out. Letting them help, letting them be supportive of me. And they’re reaching back. And now I see I never really needed the crutch of alcohol. I just needed to open my eyes to the fact that I’m loved. I have a family who loves me, Mia. I was never alone. I just couldn’t see it. Whether because of Dad, or Alastair, or because I’m just an idiot, I just couldn’t see it.”

Mia handed Dean the tissues, and he took one, wiping his eyes. “But now you do.”

“Yeah. Now, I do.”

“Good.” Mia smiled softly. “And then next you proposed, and Cas accepted, and you say here that ‘The whole restaurant applauded us as we hugged. I totally didn’t cry. Okay, I had tears in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Happy tears don’t count anyway.’ Is that a bit of toxic masculinity rearing its ugly head there, Dean?”

Dean grinned through the tears that were still stubbornly falling, wiping his eyes again. “Shut up,” he suggested, without heat. 

Mia laughed. “And then you pointed out to Cas that he was going to be a Winchester, and he hadn’t realized, and you say that ‘he looked so happy, so excited, and I realized a last name was something I could have given him years ago, just by making him a fake ID. I felt horrible that I’d never grasped before how important something like that might be to him. I swear, I’m going to spend the rest of forever making it up to him.’ Dean, do you really think that giving Cas a fake ID with the name ‘Castiel Winchester’ on it would have made Cas anywhere near as happy as getting that name by marrying you does?”

“No.” Dean blushed. “But I still could’ve made a better effort, regarding realizing what Cas wanted and needed. That was my point, there. Not that he would’ve been happy with a flimsy substitute.”

“Ah. Good. And you are making that effort now?”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to find things that I can do for Cas, or things that I can give to Cas, not anything big, just little things, here and there, that let him know that I’m thinking about him, that I care. Because for so long, he didn’t know that I cared, or worse, thought I actively hated him, and I regret that, because I love him so damn much, and I hurt him so badly.”

“Do you think Cas is upset with you now, about things you didn’t do for him before, Dean?”

“Well, no.” Dean looked puzzled, as if he couldn’t see where Mia was going with the question.

“Then why are you letting it eat you up? If Cas has let those things go, why can’t you? Dean, you’re still overcompensating as a means of gaining control, from fear of abandonment. Consciously, you know Cas is in it for the long-term, and so are you. But subconsciously? Are you still thinking he’ll leave unless you make up for all the damage of the past?”

Dean looked startled, then closed his eyes, accepting it. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Well?”

Dean took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I’m not going to stop showing Cas that I care. Because I do. But I’m going to stop thinking of it as making up to him for past damage, and just do it because I love him, now.”

“Better.” Mia nodded. “And then it says here that Cas caught the light in your soul on film?”

“Yeah. It was a little freaky. It looked like the camera had somehow had a bad flash, even though Cas hadn’t used the flash attachment. Like the film somehow got overexposed, even though it was a digital shot on his cell phone camera. It was weird.”

“And yet, Cas doesn’t seem to be concerned.”

“He’s not, and I’m glad of that, but it doesn’t completely relieve my mind, y’know?”

“Sure. It’s a weird experience, and it’s happening to you, not to him.”

“Exactly! Cas has, well, glowed before. But he’s an angel, he’s _supposed_ to glow. I’m human. I’m _not_.”

“So, you think his lack of concern is a failure of empathy, that he doesn’t understand your concerns as a human?”

“Well… no. Maybe? It’s not that he doesn’t care. He knows that I’m concerned, and he understands why. I just think that he feels my concern is a little overblown, and maybe _that’s_ an unintentional failure of empathy.”

“He understands that you _are_ concerned, but not _why_ you’re as concerned as you are?”

“Yeah, I think that’s more it.”

“Do you feel that he blew you off about it?”

“No. He cares that I’m freaked, and he understands why I’m freaked, he just doesn’t agree that I need to be freaked. He doesn’t blow me off about being freaked, he just wants me to be less freaked.”

Mia laughed. “And the award for ‘most uses of the word “freaked” in a single sentence’ goes to….”

Dean laughed as well. “I don’t know what else to call it.”

Mia nodded. “No, I get that, Dean. I’d be ‘freaked’ as well if I was glowing and it showed up on film.” She continued to read. “And then you write here that you and Cas went to bed, and he tied you to the bed, at your request. You seem to have been comfortable with that experience, from the way you’ve described it here; it sounds like the two of you were just having some fun, and he was being responsible and checking in with you consistently. But given what you’ve told me about your experiences in Hell, with being raped and used sexually repeatedly, I need to check - _were_ you okay? Did this trigger you, at all, Dean?”

“Well… I didn’t think so, at the time. But after… well, I write about it. I had a dream, Mia. I was back in Hell. And that’s what I wondered, at the time. Whether - even though I enjoyed what Cas and I did - whether it had triggered my subconscious to remember those other experiences, that I _didn’t_ enjoy. And if that’s the case, then I _need_ to get past that, Mia. Because I want to enjoy whatever Cas and I decide to do. I have, so far, and I want to continue. I don’t want to be afraid of being with him in _any_ way we choose to be together, I want it all. I’m gettin’ a little greedy in my old age, here.” Dean grinned.

“Well, let me read on, here, then, since you say you wrote about the dream.” Mia continued to read. “This bit here is a little disturbing, Dean. You write that Alastair had you on the rack, and he told you that he’s dead, so the only way he can affect you is when you come to him in your dreams, and then he intimates that you’ve done so, previously. You write that he told you that ‘You want the pain, Dean. You crave it. You need it. I put that need in you, and it has never diminished. Oh, you can resist it, for a while. And when you start to actively seek it out, Castiel tries to shepherd you away from it. And he succeeds, for a while. But you always end up back here, eventually. Of course, he soothes you, wipes away the memory of the ‘bad dream,’ sometimes even before you awaken. But you always come back, Dean.’ Have you had dreams of Alastair before, Dean, that you can remember? Did you ask Castiel if he had been preventing such dreams, or removing the memories of them?”

“No, I don’t have active memories of dreams of Alastair like this one, other than the one we’ve already talked about, this one, and the one that happened the next night, which is coming up - beyond those three, no. I have no memory of dreams of Alastair.

“But, just so you understand, Mia - Cas doesn’t remove my bad memories just because they’re bad. That’s why I have multiple sets of memories from before Hell; Cas didn’t want to do damage by removing memories that could have been real, even where it was clear that Alastair had to have implanted at least one alternate memory, unless it was clearly a fake because obvious details were wrong. He didn’t want to remove Lisa and Ben’s memories of me, either; he only did so to protect them, when I begged him to do so, and he didn’t like it, then. He wouldn’t remove memories of a dream, no matter how bad it was. No, I don’t even need to ask Cas about that. 

“But occasionally shepherding me away from that part of my memories while I slept? Yeah, that sounds like something Cas might have done on his own, to protect me. And if he did, I’d have to say ‘thank you’ to him for it.”

“Alastair says you want pain, Dean. Is he right? Are you a masochist?” Mia asked.

“No. If anything, I... I might be a sadist. I’ve tortured people - not in a fun sexy way, I don’t do it for the sexual rush or anything like that - but I’ve done it, and I’ve enjoyed it. That’s discussed later, as well. But wanting pain? No. 

“Now, when I was Alastair’s sex slave, I did beg to be punished. But oddly, it was because I _didn’t_ want him to hurt me. I wanted him to be gentle, but he’d told me up front he’d only be kind if I didn’t fail him. So _when_ I failed him, I asked to be punished, so I wouldn’t fail him _again_. It’s a twisty kind of logic. Of course, he was setting me up to fail, so it didn’t work out, but he’s a demon; demons lie.”

“It is, indeed, a twisty logic, Dean, but I follow it. ‘If you do A, you get treated nicely. If you do B, you get punished. You do B, so you beg to be punished so you’ll remember not to do B again next time. So that next time, you’ll do A, and get treated nicely.’ Except that with Alastair, actually doing A wasn’t really ever a possibility, correct?” Mia clarified.

“Right. With Alastair, there were an infinite number of possible ways to do B, but I could never manage to do A, because A wasn’t possible. It was deliberate, intentional. There was no way to ever qualify for the nice treatment.”

“So, when you begged for pain, you weren’t actually asking for pain, _per se_.”

“Correct. I was asking for a way to remember how to _not_ get pain again _the next time_.”

“Dean, do you believe that you still belong to Alastair?” Mia asked.

“No. Alastair is dead. Even if I were to die this afternoon and go back to Hell, he wouldn’t be there. He’s in the Empty. That’s where demons go when they die. And although I’ve been a demon, I’m not one, now. Cas has checked and rechecked to be sure. So I can’t go to the Empty, and there’s no way for Alastair to actually have any claim over me.”

“But that isn’t technically what I asked you, Dean. I didn’t ask you if you _do_ belong to Alastair, or if there were any way for Alastair to assert some kind of claim over you, now. I asked if _you believe_ that you still belong to him. And what I mean by that is this - is there some part of you that - subconsciously, maybe - thinks that because you gave yourself to Alastair in the beginning, willingly, of your own volition and by your own choice, that his claim was somehow valid, and, because it was then supposed to be for eternity, now remains so?”

Dean considered that. “Maybe? I mean, no, I don’t think that, actively. But maybe subconsciously? I.. I don’t know. Maybe that’s what the dream was trying to tell me?”

“Let’s look at that ‘actively’ versus ‘subconsciously’ notion, Dean. Do you believe, actively, that you belong to anyone at all?” Mia asked.

“Well, yeah, kinda. Cas. Not in the same way, obviously; Cas would never… but yeah, I think I belong to Cas. And Cas belongs to me.”

“But not in an _ownership_ kind of way, just as in a healthy relationship, partnership way, correct?”

“Correct.” Dean nodded.

“Anyone else that you’ve ever felt that you _belonged_ to, Dean?”

Dean looked confused. “I… I don’t think so. I’m not sure what you’re asking, Mia.”

“Well, let me ask you this, Dean. When you and Sam were growing up, why did you take what John dished out - assuming, for the sake of argument here, for the moment, that all of your memories, including the ones we know to have been implanted and false, were real - why did you never stand up to your father and just say, ‘no’, Dean?”

“Because I couldn’t.”

“Why not? You said in an earlier session that you ‘were never the rebellious one - that was Sam.’ I have it in my notes, here. If Sam could rebel, Dean, why couldn’t you?” Mia pushed a little.

“Because I couldn’t. Sam could rebel because Sam was the golden child who did no wrong, who was to be protected at all costs, the smart one, the good one. I was just….”

“You were just… what, Dean?”

“I was just the good little soldier... I was… I wasn’t even human. I was... a robot.”

“A robot that your father programmed… and owned?”

Dean nodded. “Christ.”

“Dean, the reason I told you to assume for the moment that the false memories were all real, is because when you made the choice to become Alastair’s slave and get down off the rack, those memories _were_ real, to you. You have to look at your decisions then in the state of mind you were in, then, or they don’t make sense. And with those memories in place, your decisions make perfect sense. But, looking back on it now, with what you _know_ , now - that those memories _aren’t_ real, or at least, some of them aren’t - would you make that same choice, now, today?”

“No.”

“Not even if you were back on the rack?”

“No.”

“You held out for thirty years, in Hell’s time, correct?”

Dean nodded.

“You were on the rack longer than you’d been alive. It took that long for Alastair to condition you into making a decision you would _never_ have made otherwise. And he simply built upon the conditioning that your father had begun. Because your father _did_ neglect you, did make you raise Sam, correct?”

Dean nodded again. “He did. Dad conditioned me to obey, to take the abuse, to do what needed to be done. And Alastair just built on that. Took it much further, obviously, but he built on Dad’s foundation.”

“What about Sam, Dean? Has Sam ever done anything, said anything, to make you feel that same way, that you belonged to him, that you were a piece of property, rather than a family member?”

“No. Sam and I have had fights, but… Wait.”

“What are you thinking of, Dean?”

“Well, do you remember, did I tell you about the period of time where Sam was soulless, after Cas rescued him from the Cage?”

“A little, yes.” Mia nodded.

“There was this one time, where Sam arrived at the end of the alley where I was being attacked by a vamp, and instead of coming to my rescue right away, he let the vamp turn me, in order to be able to use me as a way to track the Alpha Vampire. It wasn’t something Sam would have done with his soul intact, but he didn’t have his soul, and yeah, that made me feel that same way. But it wasn’t Sam’s fault.”

“No, I understand, Dean. But it was something that happened to you, where, once again, someone made you feel like a thing, rather than a person. You were just bait, something to be used. Correct?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. But that was after I came back from Hell.”

Mia nodded. “True, but no less relevant _here and now_. Your subconscious mind has been conditioned - trained, over decades of abuse from your father, and Alastair, and at least that one incident with Sam - to believe that you are property, Dean. Alastair staked a claim on you. You needed him to have that claim, in order to cope in Hell, because you needed to believe that there would be someone who might treat you well. And I don’t think your subconscious mind has ever let that go.”

Dean scrubbed his hand slowly over his face. “Yeah. I get it.”

“So, now, you have to retrain your mind, Dean.”

“How do I do that, Mia?”

“You tell me, Dean.” Mia gave Dean a soft smile. “How do you think you replace, essentially, sixty years’ worth of training?”

“With different training.”

“Correct. Your relationship with Cas. You consider yourself a partner, of equal merit, to Castiel?”

Dean sighed. “I see where you’re going with this.”

Mia grinned. “I bet you do.”

“I can’t retrain my mind to accept that I’m fully human, not merely a piece of property, but an actual person, with the _rights_ of a person, who _deserves_ good things, unless I actually _believe_ it.”

“Dean, don’t ever let anyone tell you Sam’s the only smart brother. You ask me here, at the end of this journal entry, ‘how do I exorcise an already dead demon from my psyche?’ This is how, Dean. By realizing what you did think, and changing that to what you want to think, instead. Your relationship with Cas is a very healthy one, Dean. The things that you tell me, that you write in your journal, about it are the healthiest thoughts you’ve expressed to me. So, start there. As we already discussed, stop thinking about how to make up the past damage to Cas. I am telling you, and I am willing to bet that Cas would say the same, that the past damage is now irrelevant, and continuing to dwell on it is only doing you further harm. You are Castiel’s equal in this relationship, Dean. You are his fiancé, and you will be his husband, because he loves you. He trusts you, and he believes in you. Now, you have to trust and believe in yourself, as well.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I may not be a Seraph, but I am Cas’ equal _in this relationship_.”

“Correct.”

“Yeah. I can do that, Mia. I can believe and accept that. It’s the ‘ _in this relationship_ ’ part that gets me over the hump, but yeah. That works.”

Mia nodded. “You can see the sense of it. You _are_ the equal of Cas in your relationship with him. He doesn’t try to put you in a subservient position to him, or, if he does, you stand up to him and tell him that he’s wrong to do so. We talked about an example of that just earlier today, Dean.”

“When I said that when he wasn’t listening to me, I pointed it out, and made him listen, about the suggestion of looking for Joshua. Yeah. I see what you’re saying, Mia.”

“Excellent, Dean. That’s real progress. I’m so proud of you.”

Dean blushed again, but he was concentrating on something else. “So, when I tell Cas that I don’t want him haring off on his own, and he stops doing that, and seeks consensus before moving with a plan… that’s part of this, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Dean, it is. Cas is actively finding ways to put the two of you on the same level in the relationship. Now, he may not realize that’s what he’s doing, may not be doing it for that reason - but it has the same affect, absolutely.”

“I get it. I see it. Mia, I see it!”

Mia grinned. 

***


	16. Dean's Fifth Session With Mia, Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's therapy session continues.

Mia turned the page. “Ah, and here’s your next letter - in this one, you’re writing to your 15-year-old self. You got arrested for stealing food for Sam, and then sent to a boy’s home because John was angry that you got caught?” Mia’s voice rose slightly at the end.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. He wasn’t upset that we’d run out of food, or that I’d tried to steal some. He was pissed that I got caught.”

“How long were you there?”

“A few months. It was okay. It was really good, actually. I really liked Sonny, the guy who ran the place. In fact, I would’ve stayed, if not for...well, read the letter, you’ll see.” Dean went back to staring at his hands.

Mia returned to the letter. “Oh. Oh, Dean. You write here that Sonny invited you to stay permanently, telling you he’d fight for you, fight John for you, because he believed in you. And then John showed up, just as you were getting ready to take your girl to the dance, and, of course, John insisted you leave with him, instead - and you saw Sam sitting in the backseat of John’s car, and you didn’t know where he’d been, if he’d eaten, if he was okay, and you realized that if you didn’t go with them, right then, John wouldn’t come back, and you’d never know, so you lied to Sonny for the first time, telling him you wanted to go. Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well. Typical of John, y’know?” Dean, who had been excited only a few moments before, now seemed lifeless, his eyes downcast, his shoulders slumping.

“Ah, and here, you say you did stand up to John, for once, and that there are four memories that you have of how he reacted to what you said to him. You told him that he couldn’t be gone for that long, couldn’t leave you with inadequate funds and food, and if he wanted you to keep Sam safe, he had to give you the means to do so. All reasonable, Dean. Absolutely minimum standard, I agree. But it appears John may not have. 

“You write here that John told you one of the four following things: one, that he did agree, and, going forward, he made sure to leave enough cash or to at least check in every couple of days; two, John said that it’s not his fault, you should have been a better thief, and then he backhanded you, knocked you down, and beats you with his belt; three, John told you that if you wanted more cash, there were many ways that you could make money, then took you to a bar and pimped you out to a trucker for $50, but at least the guy didn’t hurt you. 

“Now, you write that you have reason to believe that all three of those reaction memories are false. The first one, there’s no way John actually left enough cash or checked in on you often enough, and while you can’t imagine why Alastair gave you a false memory where John was good, it just doesn’t seem real. The second one doesn’t feel right to you for reasons previously discussed, primarily because Sam doesn’t recall John ever having been physically abusive, beyond the neglect. The third one doesn’t feel right to you because John, in your other memories, was homophobic. That all seems to be in line with what we’ve discussed, Dean. 

“So the fourth option is that John told you there were ways for you to make money, and then taught you how to hustle pool, and you say here that you think this is most likely because you know that John did, at some point, teach you how to hustle pool, and then you turned around and taught Sam. And I agree that this does sound like the most likely choice.

“You write here that at some point, perhaps it would be a good idea for me to hypnotize you and see which one is correct. That might be a good idea, at some point, Dean, but we still have quite a bit to get through today, yes?”

“Yeah, we don’t have to do that right now, Mia.” Dean’s voice was getting quieter; his cheeks, which had been flushed just moments ago, were now pale. 

“Dean? Are you all right?” Mia asked, concerned.

Dean just nodded, listlessly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s just keep going, okay?”

Mia gave it another second, before returning to reading the journal. “All right.

“The next thing here is your daily journal entry, and you write, ‘It sounds odd to say, but I don’t miss being out on the road. I’m ready for something new. I think that restoring the vintage cars that the Men of Letters had here, and the inventory that Bobby had on hand at the Yard, could be that. It’ll take work, but it’s work I know how to do. I think settling down with Cas, and splitting our time between here and Sioux Falls, could be really good for us. Sam can keep doing research, and keep track of the hunters’ network, without going out himself. And maybe once in a while, we can do a hunt still. But we’re getting up there, and maybe it’s just time to hang it up and be safe. How many times are we supposed to save the world, after all? We averted the Apocalypse. We talked Cas down from being God. We got rid of the Leviathans. We killed Abaddon. We got Amara under control. We got rid of Apocalypse World’s Michael. We’ve done enough. Haven’t we?’ Well, Dean, I’d say yes, myself. Do you have doubts about it?”

“Yeah. Haven’t you noticed the crap that’s happened these past few days?” Dean suddenly flushed bright red again, and started ranting.

“We have alternate universes bleeding through into this one, people going missing between universes, and we don’t know why or how widespread the problem is. Cas and Balthazar and Gabriel have been kind of roaming the countryside fixing the bleed-through spots as they find them, but they can only do so much, and they can’t go too far without chancing ending up in another universe themselves. 

“The clocks all stopped working, and we don’t know why; time itself isn’t frozen, but we can’t measure it, and we don’t know how to fix it. 

“Apparently, the Cosmic Entity isn’t in the Empty anymore, he’s down in Hell, terrorizing Rowena (who is, by the way, Queen of Hell, we’ve confirmed, now), and we don’t know what he wants, why he’s there, or what he’ll do next. 

“Chuck has been apparently playing vessel to God for the past ten years, and God’s been playing it like Chuck _was_ God, and we had no idea, until God suddenly left the vessel for parts unknown the other day, and now Chuck’s hiding out in the Bunker, and we don’t know if we’ve warded it sufficiently to keep him safe, but today, when I drove out to come here, I had to leave the garage open because the Bunker now can’t be seen from the outside - at all. Jack couldn’t get in when he came home this morning, and he’s the single most powerful being we know of - potentially even stronger than God - and we don’t know how that happened, who did it, or why. Was it to keep us in, or to keep someone else out? 

“Yeah, there’s a lot going on, Mia, don’t know if you’d noticed, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it, but everyone keeps looking to me for answers, and I don’t have any!” Dean suddenly sputtered to a stop, breathing heavily.

Mia took a slow breath in and out. “Dean, apparently it’s been quite a week. I had noticed that my clocks had stopped, but I didn’t realize that all clocks had stopped, I just thought I needed to buy some new batteries.”

Dean smiled slowly, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mia. I don’t know where that came from.”

“Sounds like you’re stressed out, and trying not to show it. Dean, do you think that you bear personal responsibility for fixing the problems you just listed?”

“No. And there probably isn’t a damn thing I can do about any of them, either. But I do feel like I’m the head of the team, and people are looking to me to lead, and I have no clue what I’m doing.”

Mia nodded. “Okay. Do you want to talk about that, or continue to go through the journal? Because I’m assuming that you’ve written about all of these things, and we’ll get to all of them, eventually, but if the pace is too slow for you, we can skip ahead, if you want.”

Dean sighed. “No, it’s fine, I said we should go in order, and we should. I just… lost it for a minute there. I apologize, Mia.”

“That’s perfectly all right, Dean. Let’s go back to the book, then, shall we?” Mia waited for Dean’s nod, before looking back at the pages.

“So, the next thing here is your letter to yourself at 26-27, about how you came to Stanford to ask Sam to help you find John, and he ended up getting back into hunting because his girl died in a fire suspiciously like the one in which your mother died - right down to the date.”

“Yeah, we found out later that was not a coincidence. Sam had a friend at Stanford, Brady. Brady got possessed by a demon who worked for Azazel, during their sophomore year, and he’s the one who killed Jess and made it look like Mom’s death, on Azazel’s orders. All part of the plan, I guess.”

Mia nodded. “Okay. The letter follows the events you two lived through for the next few months without a lot of detail, until you finally find John again in Chicago. And then you’re surprised by how loving he seems.”

“Yeah, almost suspected he was possessed for a second. Later, he _did_ get possessed, and the slight differences between how he was in Chicago compared to how he was then were what tipped me off.”

“And then you’ve got kind of an extended metaphor about the crumbs of affection that John occasionally gave you, versus the ‘whole loaf’ that you have in your relationship with Cas, now. It’s a good metaphor, Dean.”

“Kinda goes along with what we were talking about before, how my relationship with Cas is a healthy one, a good one.”

“It does, yes.” Mia looked back at the page. “You say here that you ‘see now how stand-offish Dad always was to me, so getting an actual hug? Being told that he didn’t want us to be hurt, and that of course he worried about us? It felt fucking amazing. But where was the concern all the times he got drunk and left it to me to raise Sammy? Where was the worry when he left us alone for weeks on end? Yup, I’m still angry, still conflicted.’ But then, at the end, you say that you think that ‘Dad actually did love both of you. I think he tried his best, but his best sometimes just wasn’t enough. So, I think you, then, and I, now, need to try to remember that he did try, and just let all of the other crap go. His neglect shaped me, but it didn’t break me.’ Which doesn’t sound very conflicted, at all, Dean. It sounds like you’re starting to forgive John. Are you?”

“Maybe. A little. I mean, some of what he did is kind of unforgivable. But if I don’t forgive him, then I can’t get past it. And I really want to get past it, Mia. I have to let it go. So, I’m trying. I’m trying to find ways, not to excuse it, but to maybe look at things from Dad’s perspective, a little, and see how maybe he was just trying to do his best. His best may not have been that good, but if that was the most that he could manage, then it’s not his fault. And I survived it, and so did Sammy, and we’re good, now, so, why stay pissed? It’s easier to let it go. Being angry takes too much energy that can be better used on other things.” Dean looked uncomfortable, but clearly believed what he was saying, so Mia just nodded.

“Okay. And next is your daily entry, where you talk about the next night’s dream, again of Alastair in that room in your memory palace. And he makes the same claims, essentially, as the night before, with a few new twists here and there. This bit about Sam being a powerful psychic even without demon blood is new, though; at least, it’s new to me. Can you tell me about that, Dean?”

“Yeah. Ruby - I told you about her, before, Mia; demon chick? anyway - Ruby told Sam that, right after Sam used his powers to kill Lillith, which broke the sixty-sixth seal, and freed Lucifer from the Cage. She told him that ‘It wasn't the blood. It was you... and your choices. I just gave you the options, and you chose the right path every time. You didn't need the feather to fly, you had it in you the whole time, Dumbo.’ And what she meant, Sam tells me, is that he was always a powerful psychic, even without the demon blood. It didn’t give him more power, it just gave him the confidence to actually _use_ the power he already had. Even when Azazel first gave him a little bit of the blood, the night that Mom died, that was just to wake up the powers, give them a nudge. But they were already there, just lying dormant.”

“Okay. And Alastair asserts here that Sam could use his powers to kill _you_. Could he?”

“Probably. But so far as I know, he’s never used them to kill a person. In fact, the whole reason Ruby was able to manipulate him into trying to use his powers at all was that he thought that he could save people. See, we have a demon blade, which he actually also got from Ruby, which sends a demon back to Hell like an exorcism, but while it almost always works, it also kills the poor guy the demon chose to possess. Sam’s powers, though, essentially yank the demon out of the vessel and control the demon so it can’t just smoke out and escape - it has to go back to Hell. Eventually, Sam got strong enough that he could kill the demons with his mind and send them, not to Hell, but to the Empty. He killed Alastair that way, and Lillith, too. Sometimes the vessel’s real inhabitant was already dead when he yanked the demon out of them, but sometimes, he could save them by using his powers. So, Sam probably _could_ kill a person, including me, if he was of a mind to do so. But it’s more likely that he would never try. Sam’s done violent things, but not to people, Mia. Usually, he’s really pretty gentle.”

Mia nodded, and looked back at the journal. “You write, ‘So, Mia, why did I keep thinking it’s okay to turn right at that hallway intersection? Why did I keep wanting to do so? If I just turned left, it wouldn’t be an issue – I wouldn’t get to that door, wouldn’t feel so curious about what was going on inside that open doorway that I can’t see through. And why is there an intersection at all? What’s up ahead, if I chose to just go straight? Why turn at all? From what Cas told me about Sam’s memory palace, it was all just one long corridor, except where an area had been carved out for Sam’s memories of The Cage – that was the only intersection. Do all memories of Hell rate an intersection? Did that mean going straight, or to the left – one or the other – would get me to my memories of Purgatory, and Benny? It would be good to see Benny again. Though not necessarily to have to go back to Purgatory to do it. I realized that my own subconscious couldn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, but it could reveal things that I’d hidden from myself, things I’d forgotten or repressed. That’s when I thought that I better write out as much detail as possible – what I did, what I saw, what Alastair said, and then go back through it, and try to figure out what my dream was trying to tell me to remember, figuring that if I remembered enough, maybe I wouldn’t have to go through any more of it.’

“Well, unfortunately, Dean, I don’t know that I have answers to any of those questions. We might be able to find some of them under hypnosis, but this is something that I don’t think I’d feel comfortable doing without Cas being present, in case something happened and you needed help. If you got sucked into Hell, for example, even under hypnosis, I might not be able to bring you out of it. So, maybe we could look into those questions during a session where Cas comes with you? Does that sound like a good idea to you, Dean?”

“Sure. I trust Cas. I trust you, for that matter, but I get what you’re saying, Mia.” Dean smiled at her, and she felt like maybe he was coming back out of the odd funk he’d sunk into so rapidly for a bit there. She smiled back.

“And here, you let Cas drive, and that made him happy. And then you reminded him that once the two of you are married, he’ll own half the car, and you say that he hadn’t realized that marrying you would have some tangible benefit. And so you told him that whatever you have is his to share, and you write here that you meant it and there wasn’t anything you have that you wouldn’t willingly give to Cas, but then giving to others has never been your problem, it’s learning how to take for yourself. So, Dean, tell me. Are you learning to take things for yourself, now?”

“I took Cas, didn’t I?” Dean grinned. “I took Cas, and his love, and I intend to keep them. And honestly, I don’t know that I need a whole lot more than that, Mia.”

“Fair enough. But then you say here that not having allowed Cas to drive your car before this is just ‘one more reason to feel guilty.’ After what we’ve talked about today, Dean, is that still how you feel about that?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” Mia grinned at him. “Okay, that gets us up to Friday evening. I’m going to suggest something new here, Dean. Let’s take a short break. Why don’t you go outside for a minute, get some fresh air. I’m going to use the bathroom, and you can, too, when you come back, and then we’ll get started again. I just feel that we’ve been going for a while, and we could both use a little space from some of the heavy topics we’ve been covering today, but I do want to note that you’re doing really well, Dean.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I could use a little air. I’ll be back in a few.” Dean rose from the couch and headed for the door. Mia slipped her cell phone into her pocket unobtrusively, and headed for the bathroom.

***


	17. Dean's Fifth Session With Mia, Pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's fifth therapy session with Mia continues.

_[Mia and Dean took a short break, because the session is running very long. Dean went out to the Impala and found a granola bar in the glove compartment; as he hadn't eaten anything yet today, he ate that quickly, and headed back inside. Mia made a call on her cell phone that went to voice mail, while she was in the bathroom.]_

Dean came back into the building just as Mia was leaving the bathroom.

“Hello, Dean. Feel free to use the restroom, if you need it.”

“Actually, could I trouble you for some water, Mia? I ate a granola bar, kinda need to wash it down, here.”

“Of course, I’ll get a bottle from the kitchen for you. Go on in, have a seat.” Mia turned and went into her kitchen, getting a bottle of water from the refrigerator before returning to her office, where Dean had reseated himself on the couch.

“Here you are.” Mia handed him the bottle, and took her own seat, picking the journal back up, and glancing at the most recent entry they’d covered, to remind herself where they’d left off.

“Hey, Mia?” Dean asked, quietly.

“Yes, Dean?” Mia looked up, and smiled, gently.

“Before we get back into my journal, I wanted to ask you, about Cas coming in for a combined session? Is that because you think that I’m so screwed up that you need him to keep an eye on me, or because the two of us together need to work on our relationship, or because you think he might need therapy, too, or… something else, altogether? I’m not objecting to any of that, it all sounds - well, probable, actually. I’m just wondering.”

Mia laughed lightly. “You mentioned that Cas has read part or all of your journal, and you’ve said that Cas might know you better than literally anyone else on the planet. You’ve said he’s given you insights into yourself. In addition, your relationship with Castiel is, by all accounts, oral and written, the most healthy relationship you’ve ever been in, and perhaps the only one in which you are an actively equal partner. Cas seems to have an almost innate knowledge of how to handle you, most of the time; he calmed your panic attack, and the ‘one new thing’ policy was his idea. And you have to wonder why I might want to meet him?” 

Dean grinned. “Fair.”

“Dean, I don’t actually think you’re ‘screwed up’ at all. I think you’ve had some rather nasty experiences, many of which most people would not have been able to handle at all, much less with as much grace and strength as you’ve displayed. This is only your fifth session with me, but you’ve made tremendous progress already - and I am taking no credit for that, other than for introducing you to journaling. You are doing all the work, here. 

“Whether or not Castiel needs individual therapy would be up to Castiel. I certainly would not be averse to talking with him if he wanted to come in, but I have no idea if that would be something he might want or feel a need to do. I don’t believe that you’ve described him as someone with a myriad of psychological problems, desperate for time on a therapist’s couch?” Mia quirked up an eyebrow.

Dean laughed as her voice went up into a question at the end. He shook his head. “Nah. Cas doesn’t always get the joke or the pop culture reference, but he’s solid.”

Mia nodded. “I might be able to give the two of you together some pointers for how to deal with one another in your relationship, but you actually seem to be handling that yourselves very well.”

Dean agreed. “Yeah. We’re doing all right.”

“Okay, then. Back to the book?”

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay. So, next thing here is your discussion with Castiel at the diner about your dreams of Alastair. And you say that you won’t go as far in writing about it as you did in speaking about it, but we can get into the specifics of the torture you endured in Hell in session today. Is that something you want to do, or feel a need to do, Dean?”

“To be honest, I don’t want to talk about it, but, except with Cas, I never have, and I think maybe it might do some good. Sam urged me to talk about it when I first came back, but I couldn’t get into details with him, y’know? I told him bits and pieces, just enough so he wouldn’t ask about it any more, and then I just shut him out of it. So, until just this past week, I’ve never really discussed the details of what I went through, and never with anyone but Cas. And, to be honest, I didn’t really tell _him_ everything, either. I kinda just glossed over it, said they did X and Y, but didn’t get into it beyond that.”

Mia nodded, listening.

“It started out, I was on the rack. Kind of strapped down to a full-length easel, stood up at about a forty-five degree angle, so half-standing, half-lying back. Ankles strapped apart, with legs spread; wrists strapped in by my waist, unless Alastair wanted them up, and then they might be straight out, or straight up above my head, but always strapped tight to the rack itself, not to each other, and not like to the back of my neck, or anything like that. And in the beginning, it was almost always cutting. Alastair likes knives and scalpels. He gets into these weird contests with himself, where he likes to shave bits of people off, and see how long he can make them hurt without making them bleed, things like that. Sometimes, he’d let other demons have at me, and they might want to beat me up, or use a hacksaw, or just pull my limbs off with their bare hands. Or a succubi would come along and seduce me, and it would start out feeling good, and you get to thinking it’s kind of nice, because it’s pleasurable, but they always take it too far, and you’re too sensitive, and they won’t stop, they don’t stop, and it turns over into pain, and you’re screaming like a banshee, and they still won’t stop. Violent rape, too. You wouldn’t think it would feel like much for a smoke demon to enter you, but somehow, it’s worse. You can feel them absolutely everywhere, no flesh at all, just pressure on every possible contact point, to the point of pain, like it’s twenty times bigger than largest person you could ever imagine going in you… if you ever imagined that. They’d bind my hands and collar me with a metal collar and a leash, and then make me dance on an electrically charged plate, until my neck got a black ring around it from the current passing through the collar. They’d put me in the dark, and do nothing else, just sensory deprivation, no sound, no light, until I’d have done anything just to be able to see or hear something again. They’d waterboard me. The list of different things they’d do, well…. It just goes on and on.” Dean blushed slightly, but kept talking, doggedly.

“By the end of maybe the first...month? Kind of hard to tell the passage of time, not like you get a calendar down there. Anyway, after a while, they were cycling through pretty much everything you can think of, any kind of torture at all, on almost a daily basis. There was no pattern to how or when they’d do something specific, but you kind of get to know how many things they _can_ do, once they’ve done them all and started over a few times, y’know? And by the end of say, six months? By then, they were getting through all the things they could think of _every_ day, until by the end of the day, there was nothing left of me, and I had to be rebuilt up from scratch, from bare atoms and scraps of my soul. There’s no respite from torture when you pass out or die if you’re already dead, see - they can just keep going, and you feel everything they do, no matter what.

“At the end of the day, once they were done, I had to be reassembled. Alastair didn’t always put me back together correctly, either - that was another way to torture me; he’d put my head on backward, or my legs, so my knees buckled back, or to the sides, making it difficult to walk properly, if I was allowed to walk anywhere. And that’s how he was able to implant the false memories, I think. He just shoved them in while he was putting me back together. Cas said that when he pulled me out, he had to reconstruct me from scratch, meaning, again, from the atoms up, and he only had a few moments to do so between pulling me out of the Pit and when I was resurrected and came to, lying in a pine box in my grave. And in that time, he tried to sort through the memories, but only a few of them had obvious errors, like a purple sky, or red grass - something where, when Alastair created the false memory, he hadn’t paid enough attention and was rushed or something like that. Anything that wasn’t obviously, glaringly wrong like that, Cas felt he had to leave it, because it might be real, he couldn’t know for sure it wasn’t, and deleting anything real might do much worse damage than leaving even multiple fakes.”

“Okay, Dean, let’s stop for a minute and unpack some of that, okay?” Mia smiled softly. “Let’s start with the various kinds of sexual torture, because even a single rape can have a lasting effect on your sex life forever. Have you felt like the episodes of rape and other sexual torture in Hell have affected you, once you came back? Been hesitant to have sex, changed what you were willing, or wanting, to do in bed at all?”

Dean considered that for a moment. “Honestly… no. I don’t think so.”

“No change at all, Dean?”

Dean shrugged, thinking carefully. “Really, I can’t think of anything that I do differently, Mia. I mean, before Cas, I would never have admitted that I was bisexual, but I know that I always was.”

“Okay, well, I need to ask, Dean. How do you know you always were, really, and that bisexuality prior to Hell wasn’t something implanted in your psyche by Alastair?”

Dean stopped cold. He slowly looked up at Mia, frozen in terror at that thought.

“I’m not saying it was, Dean. I’m asking how do you know it wasn’t?”

“And I’m realizing that I don’t. I can’t rely on what my memory tells me, because my memories are largely fake.”

“All right, Dean. I have a suggestion. Forget about your past. Concentrate on your present. You’ve been with Cas, sexually, now, on several occasions, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you enjoy that? You’ve said you have enjoyed that, several times. In writing, and in our sessions, both. So, if you’re enjoying that relationship, what does that tell you, Dean?”

Dean thought, hard, about that, and slowly relaxed. He nodded to himself, thinking about it. He looked back up at Mia, a good deal less frightened now than he had been. “Yeah. I did. I damn well did, and no one messed with my memories or feelings about it, I just enjoyed it.”

“Okay, then. I honestly wasn’t trying to frighten you, Dean, but you need to consider that everything you think you know about your life before you went to Hell may be wrong, so any biases or beliefs you have that seem to stem from that time, should be examined. Particularly if, as with your sexual identity, it’s something that may have changed, or been repressed before.”

“Yeah, I get it, Mia,” Dean said. He ran a hand through his hair. “Is this always this hard, or is today an especially difficult session?”

“Well, we have covered some tough topics today, Dean. What did you expect, when you journaled about dreams about your time in Hell?” Mia smiled sympathetically.

“I guess.”

“Do you want to move on, stay with this, or call it a day, Dean? Up to you.”

“Let’s get back to what I wrote in the journal.”

“Okay. So, getting past what tortures you actually suffered, you write next that after thirty years, Hell time, Alastair came to you one evening, and seemed different; tired, kind. And where before you’d always been able to take resolve from his laughing at or mocking you, now, he seemed to be feeling some empathy, and that kind of did you in, and so he got you to give in, and take his deal, and so you agreed to be Alastair’s apprentice torturer by day, and his sex slave by night. And in putting the first soul up on the rack that you cut into, you were a righteous man spilling blood in Hell, and that was the First Seal required to be broken of the sixty-six needed to free Lucifer from the Cage. Did you know that, at the time, Dean?”

“No. Not until a lot later.”

“Had you known what the consequences would be, do you think you still would have given in?”

“No.”

“Even after thirty years of vicious torture?”

“Even then. But I didn’t know.”

“Exactly, Dean. You keep writing in here, over and over, about how it was your choice, but it wasn’t an _informed_ choice, was it? You didn’t know the consequences that making that choice would have, did you?”

“No…?”

“No. So, in addition to the fact that you were clearly under duress, Dean, add the fact that you were uninformed about the repercussions of your actions as another reason why you’re not to blame for them.”

Dean looked up at Mia, a tear streaking down his cheek, as he took in her words.

She nodded at him. “Really, Dean. I don’t know how many more ways you need to be told that you’re blameless for what you did.”

Dean rose from the couch and started to pace back and forth, thinking. Mia just let him walk it out for a moment.

Eventually, he stopped, across the office from where he’d been sitting, and said, “So, in addition to Sam’s ‘you were under duress’ argument, and Cas’ ‘you were the Righteous Man and the seal still broke, therefore, you were still righteous, therefore you were not blameworthy’ argument, you’re saying that, while I did make a choice, it wasn’t an informed decision, so, I’m not liable for it?”

“Exactly. Let’s say you had a problem with your gall bladder, requiring elective surgery. You go to the surgeon, and he tells you that it’s a very safe procedure. Now, there are some risks, but he doesn’t inform you of them. You have the surgery, and there’s a problem - one of the risks he failed to discuss with you actually happens, and you get sick from it. You eventually recover, but you have, say, lost wages and pain during the time you’re ill. Because he failed to inform you of the risk, he is liable for those damages, legally speaking. You can’t be held responsible for them. Same goes, here. You weren’t informed by anyone, prior to deciding to agree to Alastair’s offer, that you putting souls on the rack and spilling blood would have the consequence of breaking the First Seal, potentially freeing Lucifer and starting the Apocalypse. You could not possibly have known that might happen. It was a consequence you did not anticipate, and were not warned about, and therefore you did not factor it into your decision. Had you known, you would have made a different decision, even after thirty years’ of Hell’s worst torture. You just said that. Congratulations, Dean. You’re not to blame.”

“But…” Dean started, weakly, “even so, those other souls, they were hurt by my actions, and I had no right to do that.”

“Perhaps not, but Dean, those souls? They would have been hurt by someone, right? Another demon? Alastair, perhaps? No matter what, whether you tortured them or not, someone was going to hurt them. Correct?”

“Y-yes, but…”

“But? But what, Dean? But then it wouldn’t have been _you_? You couldn’t have stopped them from being tortured, could you?”

“N-no, but…”

“But? But what, Dean? Those souls were going to be tortured, with you present, without you present, with you taking part or no. They are irrelevant to your blameworthiness, Dean. And I bet Castiel would say the same. Wouldn’t he?” Mia pressed her advantage.

Dean weakly sat back down on the couch. “Huh.”

Mia smiled softly. “Put the blame for Hell behind you, Dean. Stop letting it tear you up. You were never to blame for what Alastair did - to you, or to the other souls that were there. Let it go.” Mia read on in the journal, watching Dean’s face out of the corner of her eye, as he slumped back on the couch, seeming to be a little bit in shock.

“Okay, so Saturday seems to have been a busy day for you, Dean. You wanna walk me through some of this?” Mia asked, gently.

“What? Oh. Saturday. Sure. Yeah.” Dean shook his head a little bit, as if to clear it. “Yeah, so Saturday morning, we got up and finished warding Donna’s cabin, and then Amara got there.”

“Okay, remind me, Dean. Who, exactly, is Amara, again?” Mia asked.

“Amara is God’s sister. She’s the Darkness to his Light. Originally, the Mark of Cain was a birthmark on her shoulder, which God ripped off of her arm. He used it as a lock on the interdimensional prison cell in which he confined her, with help from the four Archangels, and then he made Lucifer wear it. But it twisted Lucifer, corrupted him - turned him, well, dark. And for that, rather than removing the Mark from Lucifer, God imprisoned Lucifer in the Cage, in Hell, which is not only a prison, but also its own torture device.”

“Okay, so Amara is God’s sister. Got it. And why were you meeting with her?”

“Sam currently has, in his brain’s ‘memory palace,’ a version of Lucifer, and a version of the Archangel Michael. We were seeking Amara’s assistance in removing them from there, since she’s technically the one who put them there, although she didn’t realize that was what she was doing.”

“Um, what did she _think_ she was doing?”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Lucifer and Michael both died. At the instant of their death, she concealed both of them from the reapers that would have taken them on to the Empty - where angels and demons go when they die - and gave them both a choice. They could go to the Empty if they wanted to, but they could also choose to go to the Cage, which she would modify so that it was just a regular holding cell. Now, what you have to understand, and this is complicated, is that the Cage, the way it was created, it’s not just a place, okay? It’s interdimensional, so that it’s at once both in a fixed location in Hell, and also in the mind of whoever inhabits it, at the same time. And each time another prisoner enters it, a new Cage gets created, in their own mind. So, when Sam went to Hell, and fell, with Lucifer and Michael, into the Cage, a Cage was created in Sam’s mind - and when Castiel rescued Sam’s body, and Death went back later and rescued Sam’s soul, the lock on the Cage in Sam’s mind was basically obliterated. But the Cage in Hell remained intact. Now, Lucifer _knew_ that - he knew that Sam had escaped, and knew that had to be _how_ \- but Amara _didn’t_. So Amara only knew about the Cage _in Hell_ , and when she didn’t specify further, Lucifer chose ‘the Cage,’ but meant the one _in Sam’s mind_ , and that’s where he ended up - but since the Cage in Sam’s mind has no lock, he’s free to wander around in Sam’s brain, essentially. Later, he pulled Michael in with him, when Amara gave Michael the same choice.”

“So, basically, Amara is an immortal, omnipotent being, who, by accident, put two archangels into your brother’s brain, and you met with her -”

“Not alone! I had Gabe, who’s also an Archangel, plus Cas, and Balthazar and Hannah, with me.”

“You _all_ met with her, then, to ask her, nicely, to get them back out… and do _what_ with them, exactly?”

“Well, we asked for her to let them fight with us, against God. But she’s got this whole neutrality thing going on, so she said yes, she’d take them out of Sam’s head, because that had been unintended, and he didn’t deserve that, but the best she could do would be to return them to the Cage in Hell, and make it so no one could get them back out. That way, she wasn’t violating neutrality by letting us use them, but she wasn’t giving God an edge, either, by making it possible for him to release them to fight for _him_.”

“Dean… do I want to know why, exactly, you’re all fighting with… God?”

“Probably not.”

Mia sighed softly and rubbed her eyes gently. “Okay.”

“Let me put it to you like this, Mia. You remember Jack, right?”

“Yes, how is he?”

‘He’s fine, actually. He was away with some friends for a few days, just got back this morning. But for a while, he was dead, and when the Cosmic Entity returned the three hundred thousand angels, he _also_ returned Jack. And the reason that Jack had been dead, was that… God killed him. He meant for _me_ to do it, but I refused. Jack’s like a son to me.”

“Okay. Now, you write here that Cas asked to speak with Amara alone after the meeting, so you all cleared out to give them some privacy, and the rest of you went around painting over the wards. And then you realized that their after-meeting meeting was taking too long, so you went in to interrupt, and found that they were gone. And around that same time, you write here, that Gabe realized that Sam could be in danger, because ‘Amara’s reason for giving Lucifer the choice of the Empty or the Cage in the first place had been to have the option of keeping the power of an Archangel in the universe, without having to recreate it, which only God knew how to do. That meant that Lucifer and Michael both retained all of their power as Archangels, and they weren’t merely ‘memories with intent’ as Lucifer had been insisting. If Lucifer was lying about that, he could have been lying about everything, about the Mark, about being on your side, about Michael’s sanity – for if Lucifer had his powers, he could certainly make it appear that Michael was sane, when, in fact, he was still loony, and no real reason had ever been given for Michael’s supposed return to mental health.’”

“Right. So then Gabe tried to fly back to the Bunker, but he landed in an alternate universe, instead. And, at the same time, I saw Cas and Billie disappear from the cabin, and then realized that Balthazar and Hannah were missing. So to try to figure out what was going on, I called on the reaper that Billie assigned to keep watch over me, back when Michael was imprisoned inside my head.”

“Wait. Michael was imprisoned in your head, and now he’s in Sam’s head? I’m confused. How’d he get from one to the other?”

“Actually, it’s two different versions of Michael. The first one was the Michael from this universe; he fell into the Cage with Sam and Lucifer, wearing our half-brother Adam’s body. He was in there until fairly recently; he got out when God killed Jack and then opened a rift in Hell, trying to kill us. And then, apparently, he was walking across the street, and got hit by a car, and Amara gave him the choice, and he ended up in Sam’s head. That’s Michael #1. Michael #2 was from what we call ‘Apocalypse World’ - it’s an alternate universe where Sam and I were never born, so we weren’t around to stop the Apocalypse from happening, and in that world, Michael won, but decimated the planet. He came over to this world, and, a bunch of stuff happened, and he ended up in my head, then he switched into Rowena’s head, and then Jack forced him out, and killed him. That’s Michael #2; he’s dead, and now just gone.”

“Okay, Dean, question for you. You just said that in Apocalypse World, you and Sam were never born, so you weren’t around to stop the Apocalypse from happening, correct?”

Dean nodded.

“Okay, but didn’t the two of you also _start_ it? You told me yourself that _you broke the First Seal_ by being the Righteous Man who shed blood in Hell. So, if you weren’t around to do that, because you were never born in that world, how did the Apocalypse start in the first place? Doesn’t that mean that it would have started with you or without you? And isn’t that further proof that you, yourself, are blameless?”

Dean paused to consider, his eyes wide. He gulped, then slid a sideways glance over at Mia. “Mia, you’ve gotta stop that. You’re blowing my mind too much, it’s starting to hurt. I’m going to need migraine meds by the time I leave here today.”

Mia just grinned.

***


	18. Dean's Fifth Session With Mia, Pt. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's fifth therapy session concludes.

“So the next thing you wrote was a letter to yourself at ages 28-29, starting right after someone named Jake Tapper… cut through Sam’s spinal cord and kidneys with a hunting knife, and so you made a deal with a demon, and you tried to hide it from Bobby, but he figured it out, then you tried to hide it from Sam, and it took him a bit longer, but eventually he figured it out, as well. You write about the Hellhound coming for you, and you sort of gloss over your Hell experiences, passing over it to when you were rescued by Castiel, though you don’t know who or what got you out, at first. And then Bobby doesn’t believe it’s you, when you turn up on his doorstep. But once you’ve proved that it’s you, you say here, he simply accepts it. So, Dean, how did you prove that it was really you?”

“Well, Bobby thought that I had to be either a shapeshifter, or a revenant. So, I cut my arm with his silver blade, which proved I was neither of those. Oh. Um. Sorry, Mia.”

“Not necessary, Dean. Go on.” Mia smiled a bit at Dean’s sudden recollection of her shapeshifter nature.

“And then he thought I might be just a meat suit for a demon pretending to be me, rather than really just me. So he threw some holy water in my face. Which, of course, had no effect, other than to leave me dripping, and a little angsty.”

Mia laughed. “Only a little?”

“Well, I knew what he was doing. I couldn’t really take offense, y’know? He knew I had been in Hell; me coming back as I did didn’t really make a lot of sense, so me being a meat suit for a demon? That made a lot more sense to him, and I can’t blame him for it.” Dean grinned. “But after that? He didn’t need anything further. Just gave me a hug, told me it was good to see me, and that was it. Just accepted me for me, just like he always had.”

Mia nodded. “And you write here that that ‘just encapsulates your relationship’ with Bobby. That ‘he trusts you and believes in you, absolutely.’ That must have felt good, Dean.”

“Yeah. Bobby was amazing, Mia. I wish you could’ve met him. You would’ve liked him, and I think he would’ve liked you. I think he would have approved of what you do, using your… talent, shall we say, to help people.”

Mia smiled. “I try.” She looked back at the journal. “And then that sets up another comparison between Bobby, on the one hand, and John, on the other. You write, ‘John gave you the crumbs of his attention, almost none of his care, never really trusted you, and never acted like he believed in you. Bobby never held back from caring for you, showed you exactly how he felt about you, always trusted you, and always believed in you. John was the sperm donor who dragged you around and neglected you. Bobby was the father you needed, and thank goodness for him.’”

Dean nodded, an almost wistful expression on his face. 

“But then, Dean, you write this to your younger self: ‘remember that a lot of what you think you remember about John right now, at 29, fresh out of Hell, isn’t true, but rather was implanted, false memories, courtesy of Alastair. Try not to judge either John or yourself too harshly.’ That sounds like good advice, Dean. Planning on taking it, are you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been trying to forgive Dad, to let it go, as we discussed earlier, before that little break.”

“And yourself?”

Dean let out a shaky little breath. “I’m workin’ on it. Really.”

Mia smiled. “Good. Okay, so, that gets us up to the journal entry from Sunday afternoon. Basically, people who had gone off to various places to try to gather information were checking back in with what they’d learned, seems like, and you and Castiel and Balthazar drove back to Kansas - oh, with Cas driving, and you sitting in the back seat?”

“Yeah, that was a little odd. I think the last time I rode in Baby’s backseat, I might’ve been in high school, and Dad was driving her.”

“And then you write about an apology that Cas made to you. Tell me about that, Dean.”

“Well, he hadn’t been able to find me in the cabin, and he knew I hadn’t been planning on going outside. As far as he could tell, Gabe, Hannah, and Balthazar were all gone, too, when he got done talking to Amara. And then Billie showed up, and they got to talking, and they decided it would be a good idea to try to talk to the Cosmic Entity, which meant going to the Empty, so, just as I took a turn in the cabin that put me back in the same universe with them, I saw them - from behind them, so they didn’t see me - disappearing. And then, while they were gone, they found the other Lucifer, and decided he should come back with them to the Bunker; then when they got there, they found that the Bunker was heavily over-warded, and they needed Lucifer’s powers to strip some of the spells so they could get inside, and in order to make that possible, Lucifer needed a vessel. Billie, as she’s Death, literally couldn’t be a vessel if she wanted to be one, so that left Cas, and he agreed to share his vessel with Lucifer. Now, obviously, I wasn’t around to consult with on any of this, so far as Cas knew. So, he didn’t. But he had agreed not to just go haring off, and so he was concerned, and Balthazar told him that he was right to be, that I would be upset with him for it. So, he apologized, and then, when I wasn’t upset, and told him that he’d acted reasonably and properly under the circumstances, I think it maybe blew his mind a bit.”

Mia nodded. “And then you write, ‘I had so much anger inside of me, for so long. I lashed out so often, so much, for all the wrong reasons, and at all the wrong people, especially Cas. I see now how much damage that anger did, not only to me, but to all those around me, everyone I love, and I’m so sorry for it, but I’m not going to wallow any longer in the misery and shame that regret and remorse could engender. I refuse to drag myself back down into that morass of bad feelings. I see it, I acknowledge it, and now, I’m going to let it go. Because that’s the healthy thing to do. I could tell Cas that I’ll be different going forward, but he’ll have to see me actually being different, every time, not just once, in order to believe it. There’s no point in saying the words, when consistent action will speak more loudly anyway. The only words that are important now are the positive happy words like, “I love you,” “I want you,” and “I need you.” Oh, and “so, do you want to drive?” Because letting Cas drive makes Cas happy, and making my angel happy makes me happy. I like being happy. I think I forgot that, somewhere along the way.’ And I think that all sounds pretty good, Dean. But is it simply _aspirational_ , _i.e._ , something you want to shoot for, a goal; or is it something you’re actively putting into practice, _right now_?”

“Right now. I’m really trying to be better about thinking before I speak, and not just lashing out, and about showing people - not just Cas, but Sam, and Gabe, and Jack, etc. - that I’m going to act like this consistently, as far as possible, from here on out. I mean, yeah, I might backslide, I’m hardly perfect. But I’m going to try to do the best I can to make it stick.”

“Excellent, Dean.” Mia smiled. “Okay, next thing here is a letter to yourself at age 33, when Bobby was killed, and apparently, he haunted you for a bit?”

“Kinda. He didn’t haunt _me_ , exactly; he tethered his spirit to his silver flask, which he knew I loved and would keep. Of all of Bobby’s belongings, that flask was the one thing I might’ve wanted to actually carry on me, y’know? Not just for convenient alcohol, but because it reminded me of him, and holding it brought him to mind. If I set it on the motel desk, and then glanced at it, I could pretend that he was just in the other room, or had run out for something quick, and he’d be right back. It helped, when I missed him so damn much I could barely breathe. And while I know Sam missed him, too, Sam has always kind of been the more independent of the two of us. He went to Stanford on his own; even after Dad told him that if he walked out he should never try to come back, he still went, knowing what it would mean, knowing it would cut him off from basically all the family he had. So when Dad died, Sam mourned him, a little, but you could tell, looking at him, that Sam would be okay. Same when Bobby died. You could just tell, that Sam was hurting, sure, but he’d be all right. Whereas, I was kind of a mess. It really helped me to be able to pretend. But then, when we found out he was really there, or at least, his spirit was…. Yeah, that messed with me a little bit. I didn’t want to believe it.”

“You write here that ‘While it meant losing Bobby twice, being haunted by him also meant that you got something from him that you never got from John - closure.’”

Dean nodded. “A really long time later - just last year, in fact - we found this ancient Chinese artifact, a pearl, that let us have what our hearts most desired. And Sam let me use it, and I thought I’d be getting Michael out of my head, y’know? But instead, I brought Dad forward in time from 2003. And we were able to talk to him and say goodbye, finally. So, I did get closure with Dad eventually, but literally, not until years - over a decade - after he died. With Bobby, I got it after he died, but through his haunting, and it took just, oh, I dunno, maybe six, seven months.”

“And then you tell yourself this: ‘I know you mourn Bobby, but don’t get lost in your grief. You have things to do. You know that he loved you; he knew that you loved him. Let him go. Burn the flask . And when your own time comes, don’t seek a flask of your own. Keep your promise, and move on. But until then, remember that people love you. Let them in. Love them back. Tell them how you feel. I wish that I had told Cas how I felt about him when I was the age you are now…. I didn’t. That’s on me. But I have told him, now. That’s how I know how much better life could have been. Because it’s so much better now. You’ll get here, eventually. Let yourself believe it.’ So, now I need to ask, Dean. Do you? Do you believe it?”

“I really do, Mia. I really believe that good things really do happen and really are possible, and that I can have a part in that. I never used to, but I really do, now. And Cas is a huge part of that, but it’s also me, letting people in, not just Cas, but Sam, and Claire, and Jody, and Donna, and all the people in my life who love me, that I shut out for so long, when I didn’t need to, at all. I was blind, Mia, but now my eyes are open, and I’m keeping them that way.”

“Good for you, Dean. And that brings us to the Monday afternoon journal entry. And you say here that Lucifer ‘offered’ to go into Shann. Tell me about that, Dean.”

“Shann, you might recall, is Sam’s assistant, and he was hired to do basic clerical stuff, but, apparently, he’s got a knack for translation from modern-day Romance languages - French, Spanish, etc. - and Sam had him translating some texts from French into English, and he finished those, and he moved on to some Spanish texts. And the first one he worked on, it turns out, was pretty interesting, apparently. Also, Shann ended up in an alternate universe, briefly; there was a bleed-through spot in the Bunker, somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom. Sam’s assigned reaper told him how to get back, but when he came, he saw what that universe’s Shann had been working on - the same text, but with some marked differences - so he stole that universe’s text, and the notes that universe’s Shann had written, and he brought them back with him. And he’s been working basically night and day on the two books, since, and asking questions of the angels about the contents. Lucifer figured it’d be easier to work together on the research if he shared a vessel with Shann, rather than with Cas, and Lucifer also knows that it makes me uncomfortable to be intimate with Cas, while Cas is sharing his body with Lucifer. He figured that if he moved over to Shann, who isn’t dating anyone at the moment, it’d kill two birds with one stone. Shann is still kind of mulling it over, not sure he really trusts Lucifer. Can’t say I blame him.”

Mia nodded. “And then you write here about figuring out that the clocks had stopped, and the information that you and your… well, team, I guess… gathered about that. And then you write here that, ‘This seems like something that really only a god could do, so I’m personally betting that it’s our not-so-friendly friend, Chuck. I could be wrong. He said, through Cas’ friend, Kathy, that he wants to end the fighting, and this would be an odd way to go about it. But of the other entities we know of with the “juice” to do this kind of thing, I can’t think of one that would have a motive to do it. With Chuck? Well, Sam did shoot him.’ Mia pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Well, you did say you all were fighting with God. Sam shot God, Dean?”

“Yeah. God - Chuck - whatever, he made this gun, he called it the Equalizer. He wanted me to use it to shoot Jack. What he didn’t initially tell me was that it didn’t shoot regular bullets; it gathers a piece of the shooter’s soul, and shoots that - and whatever damage is done to the target, is done to the shooter as well. So, if you shoot God, and you kill him, well, you die, too. So if I _had_ killed Jack, I would have died, as well. When Sam shot Chuck, he winged him - hit him the shoulder. Gave both of them a nasty wound, that isn’t healing in either of them. The gun’s been destroyed, by the way. It’s gone.”

“And then you wrote this: ‘Being that it probably IS something only a god could do, there's probably nothing that I can do to fix it; yet I still have this odd sense that I ought to be doing something about it. I have no notion of what that would be, exactly, but... something. I can't save everyone, and I can't fix every problem, and not everything is my responsibility. Rationally, I know that; but I still have this niggling sense of... failure? Impending doom? I'm not even sure how to describe it.’ Dean.”

“Mia, I know, okay? I know it’s completely irrational. There’s nothing I can do, and it’s not my responsibility to fix it. And yet….” Dean sighed.

Mia shook her head. “Well, as long as you know that, I guess.”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”

“And that brings us to your next letter to your younger self, and this is to yourself at a few ages, looks like. It’s about two women, Cassie, and Layla. Tell me about them, Dean.”

Dean’s face relaxed, and a fond smile slipped onto it. “Well… they were both gorgeous. Smart. Incredible. I was with Cassie for a while, and for a long time, I thought she was the one, Mia. I broke about a hundred of Dad’s rules with her, told her what we really did, and she thought I was crazy. Just full-on insane. Or lying. She couldn’t fathom that what I was saying was the truth, was real. Either I was lying so she’d break up with me, or I was nuts. She dumped me, said she never wanted to hear from me again. So, I took her at her word. And about four years later, I get a call on my cell. I honestly don’t know how she got the number, but it was Cassie. She had a supernatural issue she needed help with, so Sam and I went and cleared it out for her. And I fell right back under, hard. But when all was said and done, she didn’t want to be with me. She had her life set up the way she wanted it, and didn’t want to leave it. And I said that I would come back for her, but I never did.”

“Why not, Dean?”

“Because even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. We’ve discussed already that what I felt for Cassie wasn’t really love, it was a healthy dose of lust and attraction, with some admiration thrown in. But she didn’t believe in me, or trust me, and I need someone who’ll do both. And that’s what I learned from her - that I need someone who will believe in me and trust me.”

“And Layla?”

“I never really dated Layla, didn’t know her more’n a few days, really. We weren’t ‘together’ at all, she was just this sweet girl that I met. She had a rare form of brain cancer, incurable. She probably died a few months after I met her. But she had such faith. And what she taught me was that I need someone who has unshakeable beliefs, faith, in goodness, in miracles, if not necessarily in God. The two of them together taught me that I need someone who loves me, trusts me, and wants only the best for me.”

“And you found that.”

“I did. In Cas.” Dean smiled softly.

“That’s lovely, Dean.” Mia smiled, as well. “And that gets us up to this morning!”

“Yeah. Busy week.”

“Very. So, you told Claire about the engagement, and that went well, it seems?”

“Yup. Claire’s excited.” Dean grinned.

“And you got around to asking Sam to be Best Man.”

“Yeah, I should’ve done that earlier. My bad.” Dean looked at the ceiling and whistled, innocently.

Mia laughed. “Mmhmm. He doesn’t seem to have been upset, though.”

“No, he wasn’t.” 

“Cas took Claire home, then came back and had you come outside to star gaze with him. That’s sweet.”

“It was a gorgeous night for it, last night. The skies were so clear, and the air was crisp and cool, but not so cold that you couldn’t stand outside for a bit. So we stood out there and talked about wedding plans for a while. It was nice.”

“You write here that Cas ‘asked if I wanted to put up pictures of my absent loved ones - including Ben and Emma. I froze for a second, I think because I’m not used to having it be acknowledged that I even had those children, or that I love them still. I know that they can’t be at the wedding - Emma’s dead and Ben doesn’t know who I am anymore - but it meant so much to me that Cas would think to suggest that, and just mentioned their names casually, like, _of course_ , they’re among your absent loved ones.’ Now, we’ve talked about Emma and Ben before, Dean, and I know you said that you don’t mention Emma, particularly not to Sam. But I don’t know that I had realized that you don’t really talk much about Ben, either. Why is that?”

“Because I don’t see the point. We’ve discussed him, I’ve talked about Ben with Cas, and Sam, they know about him, it’s not like he’s a secret, but there’s nothing I can do to bring him back into my life. And it hurts, so yeah, I don’t talk about him, because why bring up a painful subject?”

“But you liked that Cas raised the notion of putting pictures of the children up at the wedding.”

“I liked that Cas understands what they mean to me. I turned down putting up pictures of them, and I would have even if I had pictures of them available to put up, which I don’t.”

“Ah. So, you like that Cas understands you, and knows what’s important to you, and is willing to cater to you with regard to what’s important to you, but you don’t feel it necessary to have that which is important to you present at your wedding?” Mia looked at Dean pointedly.

“Well, that’s kind of twisting my words, Mia.”

“I don’t think it is, Dean. What part of what I said is untrue?”

“I didn’t say that I don’t feel it necessary to have that which is important to me present at my wedding. I said that I don’t have pictures of Emma and Ben available to put out at the wedding. And, even if I did, I wouldn’t put them out, for a couple of reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for one, putting up a picture of Emma might be hurtful to Sam. Putting up a picture of Ben might endanger him. It would tell people that he’s still important to me, and that would make him seem like fair game. I cut him out of my life and had Cas cut me out of his memories to prevent just that, Mia!”

Mia raised her hands in surrender. “All right. Next, you write that Cas ‘said he was thinking he’d lay down, too. So, I asked if he was tired - because with an archangel’s power to draw on, as well as his own, he shouldn’t be tired, so if he is, that’s a concern - and he said no, but he’d thought it would be nice to snuggle, and it has been a while since we tried a new ‘one new thing’ - and that freaked me out a bit. I don’t want to be intimate with Cas with Lucifer - or anyone else, either - tagging along, as it were, and I snapped at him. He asked if something was wrong, and I told him, and we got past it. He agreed that we should wait until Lucifer is no longer sharing his vessel, and he understands why I am uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have snapped, and I owe him an apology for that, but it did lead to communication, eventually. And yeah, that’s because Cas asked - but he wouldn’t have asked, before. It would have just been just another dead issue, lying between us, building a wall. Those walls are down, now, and once he did ask, I was fine with explaining. The snap was instinctual,and I need to work on that, still, but hey, we talked! Progress!’ Well, Dean, that _is_ progress, and it’s good that you recognized it as such. Excellent.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks.”

“Don’t forget to apologize for the snap, though.”

“I know.”

“Okay. And then you were talking with Sam, and ‘he was having a mild crisis,’ because Gabe was going off without him to take a slight risk. So he asked you how you dealt with feeling unworthy of Cas, how you’d gotten past it. And you write that you ‘told him that I haven’t. I know I’m not good enough for Castiel, but he loves me, and that makes me want to try to be good enough, and that’s all anyone can really do - try.’ And that’s a very healthy outlook, Dean. Really good.

Mia continued, “And then Cas and Gabe went and got Chuck and Kathy, and apparently God has left Chuck with ten years’ of his life missing?”

“Yeah. It was confusing because apparently Chuck was a prophet, but just a human, until about ten years ago. Shortly after we met him - which was after the _Supernatural_ books’ publisher went under and new ones weren’t coming out anymore, although Chuck was still writing them, then - God took Chuck’s body over as a vessel, and I guess started pretending that Chuck had been God all along. But now, God is gone, and Chuck is, as he puts it, ‘swimming back up to the surface for the first time in a long time,’ and back to being human. And a rabbity nervous little human, he is, too.”

“So everyone headed off to bed, or at least their own rooms, and you and Cas went back to your room, and Cas started in again to read the rest of your journal, and you write that ‘when I started to write this entry this morning, I found a note from him: “Dean, I read the whole thing from start to finish, and I am honored that you trust me with so much of yourself. I am so proud of you and the progress you’ve made so far, my heart. Thank you for loving me so much, and for finally being willing to take a chance. I love you. Always, Cas.” It made me smile. And that’s everything, except for today’s assignment - my letter to future me.’ That’s it? ‘It made me smile’?”

“Well, it did.”

“Okay. Seems like damning with faint praise, Dean.”

“Let me put it this way, Mia. I had some thoughts, but they’re for Cas, first.”

“Fair. Okay. That’s fair. And last, but certainly not least, your letter to your _future_ self. You write that you hope to retire completely from hunting, and now and then maybe restore a car. You and Cas live in the country in a house big enough for you, him, Jack and Claire, and their children, so they can drop by whenever to see you, and you hope Sam and Gabe live nearby. And then you write, ‘I don’t really know what else to write to you, Old Gray Me. Except this: don’t fuck it up. Be good to Castiel, and to yourself. Let yourself be happy, Dean. You earned it.’ Well, I agree, Dean, you’ve certainly earned happiness, if anyone has. This letter is short, but sweet. It’s interesting, because all of your other letters to yourself this week were rather long, with the exception of the first one. It kind of looks like when you wrote the first one, you weren’t sure of what you wanted to say, so you kept it short, and when you wrote the last one, which was the first to your future self, you again weren’t sure of what you wanted to say, so, again, you kept it short. And in the middle, there, you seemed to get into the exercise, and let yourself really dig in, writing a lot and getting in a lot of good self-analysis. Does that seem accurate to you, Dean?”

Dean considered it. “Maybe. I really didn’t know what to write to myself in the future. It’s hard, because for so long I kind of assumed the future was the one thing I wouldn’t have to worry about, y’know? I mean, Mia, I died at 29. I thought it was forever, when I went down. Cas pulled me out after four months, but if not for that, it would have been forever. The future wasn’t something I ever really thought about.” Dean shrugged.

“That’s fair. But remember, we talked last week about making plans, right? Well, this is part of that. You can’t plan ahead if you have no dreams or goals for the future, Dean. So, your homework for this week, I think, is for you to sit down with Cas, and maybe Sam and Gabe as well, and think about what the whole bunch of you want for your futures. Where do you want to be in ten years? Twenty? Forty? And then sit down with Cas, and make a plan for, say, the next five years? Is that do-able, Dean?”

“Maybe. We can try, at least.”

“Right. And then why don’t you see if Castiel is available to come with you next week? And then we can all three of us sit down and talk about the plans you both made, see how far you got, talk about what you both decided you want. Does that work?”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Works for me. I don’t know of anything Cas has next week that would get in the way of that, but I can send you an email or something if he can’t make it, how’s that?”

“That works. And I understand that I have an appointment with Sam on Thursday. I’m looking forward to that.”

“So is he, I think.” Dean smiled. “Sam’s always been better than me at communicating, so he’ll probably have this knocked in no time.”

“We’ll see, Dean. We’ll see. All right. So. Next week, same day, same time - roughly, unless we’ve got clocks back by then - with Cas, unless you email. And if you want to continue to journal, you can, if you want to keep writing letters, you can do that, too. I saw you had put in one of your entries that there were entities that you now find it odd you somehow forgot to write letters to before, so go ahead, if you want. And did you ever send any of those letters that we talked about possibly sending?”

“Um, no. I guess I should, huh?”

“Well, only if you’re comfortable with sending them. There were some you said you wouldn’t be, so you needn’t, but there were some people who you said you thought deserved explanations. Like, I believe, Donna, for example.”

“Yeah. I should send some of them. I should. I will. I’ll get on that tomorrow. Looks like it’s kinda late to do it today.” Dean nodded at the window, which showed that it was already full dark outside. “I’d better get moving. Cas is going to wonder where I am.”

“All right, Dean. Have a good week, then. See you Tuesday.” Mia walked him to the door and gave a little wave as he drove off in the Impala.

She sighed softly as she went back inside and closed the door behind her, sliding the deadbolt closed. 

_So much progress. I wonder: will what I've been asked to do impede that, or make it easier?_

***


	19. Dean's Homework Following Session #5, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's journal entries for Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday.

**_Wednesday, Late Afternoon_ **

_I was going to write down some of the things that Mia and I discussed in therapy this week in this entry; there were a lot of break-throughs, and I want to be able to remember them clearly. Maybe I’ll do a second entry at some point for that._

_For now, I have something else that I need to write about. I feel like my earth has shifted on its axis, and the ground is metaphorically unsteady beneath my feet. And yet, I dare to hope that this news will be good._

_When I got home from our session yesterday - it had been a long one, and I hadn’t had much to eat all day, so I was exhausted and ravenously hungry - I got some food right away, and had intended to sit down and eat and relax with Cas, watch a movie, and maybe talk a little about the therapy stuff. But there was a telephone message, and it said it was important, so I decided to return the call right away, and not wait._

_The woman who had called, Lilah Stinson, said that I don’t know her, we’d never met, but that I knew her sister, Anne Marie Stinson, briefly, about five years ago. I don’t remember Anne Marie, to be perfectly honest; apparently, I was in their town, Beulah, North Dakota, for about two weeks, and during that time, I was sleeping with Anne Marie. It’s a perfectly believable claim, and I have no reason to doubt that it’s true. Anne Marie gave birth to a daughter four and a half years ago, she put my name as father on the birth certificate, and she named the child Deanna Rose, after me. When Anne Marie found out that her cancer was terminal, she told Lilah to find me, and to give the girl to me to raise. That was a few weeks ago; it took Lilah a while to find a phone number for me that worked. In the meantime, Anne Marie died, last week. Lilah has six children of her own, and cannot keep the little girl. Lilah said if I didn’t take her, she’d go into the system. I couldn’t have that._

_But I also couldn’t travel up to North Dakota myself to get her. I’d have had to drive right through South Dakota, and there are still a large number of federal agents present there, at least some of whom would have reason to know my face, and would drop me on sight. So, I called Jody, and asked for a favor._

_I spoke with Cas, and with Sam. Sam recognized the name of the town, Beulah, North Dakota. It was one of the places that Crowley and I stopped on our “Demon Bros” tour. I don’t remember ever having been there, but it was toward the end, when Crowley had gotten tired of being unable to control me, and he’d enabled Sam to track me as far as where we’d been staying. However, he also warned me of that, so I left before Sam arrived. But Sam remembering that much made me understand why I don’t remember any of this - it all happened during the time when I had the Mark, and was a demon._

_And that means that it’s possible that Deanna is half-demon herself - a cambion, a half-human, half-demon hybrid. Sam and I met a cambion just once previously - Jesse Turner. He was 7 or 8 years old, I forget now, and he had the power to warp reality with a thought. He didn’t know he was doing it, he didn’t mean to do bad things. Once he found out he’d been doing them, he put everything back in its original form that could be put back, and then he vanished. We never saw him again._

_Cas took it remarkably well. Told me that it was understandable that I would be a bit flummoxed by the news of a daughter, and that it would be a big responsibility for both of us, this new life that’s been dropped into the midst of ours. I was surprised that he’d assume that Deanna was his responsibility, too, but he just looked at me blankly, and said, “Well, of course, Dean.” He made it clear that he wasn’t leaving, that he loved me, that he assumed I still loved him, that we are getting married, and that this child will be our responsibility, together. I am so grateful for and in love with him. Even when I pointed out the possibility that Deanna could be a cambion, Cas didn’t shrink from it, just said we’d have to wait and see. She might have powers, she might not, and there’s no way to know if she would or how strong they might be until she arrived, and we could test it._

_Jody and Claire drove up this morning. Jody called a few minutes ago, and they’ve already got Deanna and her things with them back at their motel in Beulah; they’ll get on the road in the morning. Jody said Deanna was already fast asleep, so I couldn’t speak to her yet. I thought it was moving maybe a bit too fast to already have taken her out of her aunt’s house, but Jody tells me that the living situation there was not great for Deanna. I don’t think anyone was actively mean to her, but Jody said that Lilah had superstitions against red hair, which Deanna has, and was mistrustful of quiet children who read early and well and voluntarily. Deanna herself told Claire that Lilah loves her, but it’s a “hard” kind of love, based on duty and obligation. I haven’t told Cas that part yet; he just got done telling Claire a few days ago that when Jimmy first died, he felt a similar feeling for her. I don’t want him drawing that parallel, if I can avoid it._

_And that just leaves me, and how I feel about this. It’s such a mixed bag of emotions. I’ve always loved kids. I love Emma and Ben, and I can’t be around them. And now here’s this little girl, clearly bright, Jody says she’s pretty, and apparently she’s mine. She needs me. Her mother’s dead, her aunt’s unable to keep her and probably not the best situation for her anyway, and no child of mine, or who even just might be mine, is going into the system! Not while I have breath. I didn’t expect this. I don’t remember Anne Marie, or even being in the town where she lived. But Sam remembers that I was there, and the timing seems about right. I can’t deny it’s possible, and I don’t want to deny it._

_We were already talking about maybe getting out of hunting. I don’t miss being out on the road. I like being at home. It was different when I was trying to be with Lisa; I wasn’t ready to retire from hunting, then, I just didn’t know what to do once Sam was gone, and once he was back, well, that was that. But I do know what to do with myself, now. I can restore vehicles and get the Salvage Yard up and running again. I can marry the love of my life, and raise my daughter with him._

_There are two thoughts that I hadn’t had, from the moment I spoke with Lilah, until right now. One thought I didn’t have was that I somehow don’t deserve this. Not once did I ever consider whether or not I was worthy of having and raising a daughter. The second thought I didn’t have was to wonder how soon she’d leave me behind. She’s four. She won’t be able to leave for a good long time, and when she does, to go away to college or whatever, it’ll just be because it’s time for her to get out and be on her own. She won’t be abandoning me or leaving me behind. If she goes to college, Cas and I can visit now and then, be the ‘cool dads’ who come and take her and her roommate, or her boyfriend, out to lunch, and spoil her a little bit, before going again to give her her freedom. She’ll come home on holidays, and when she gets married and has kids of her own, they’ll all come to visit me and Cas._

_And I could see it, all of it, so clearly. I haven’t even met this daughter of mine yet, and I can already see a whole future laid out before us like a rich velvet carpet. Because I have faith and I have trust, in me, and in Castiel, that we won’t let anything else happen. We will take our responsibilities to this child seriously, and we will love and protect her, and be her family._

_And I have to say, it feels good to see things that way. To be optimistic, and to believe that it’s justified. Of course, I have concerns. But I’m not thinking that it’s something that I can’t handle, something that I’ll just fuck up. I have a support system. Cas, Sam, Gabe, Jody, Claire. So many others. I don’t have to try to do it all alone. I never did._

_I have to also say, thank you, Mia. I know you say I do all the work, but I couldn’t have made this progress without the tools you gave me. You made it possible. So, really, thank you._

_I have a daughter._

_I have a daughter!_

_***_

**_Friday evening_ **

_I haven’t written since Wednesday. I feel awful about that, but there’s just so much going on, I haven’t had a spare moment. But at the same time, I feel - well, just_ **_good_ ** _. I told Cas, after writing my last journal entry on Wednesday, that it had been a long time since I’d had much to look forward to, but now, there’s the wedding, my daughter, my new vehicle restoration and Salvage Yard business, and as I was writing, I had realized that there was just one thing missing: fear. I wasn’t afraid of screwing things up, or of letting Cas or Deanna down, I wasn’t afraid that Cas or Deanna would leave me, or that I wouldn’t be able to handle things. I had realized that I have a support system, a real family, and that crippling fear of abandonment, that I’d had my whole life, was just gone, along with my old anger and self-loathing. I just felt_ **_happy_ ** _. And apparently, I was happy enough that I was glowing again, and Cas had to tell me to tamp it down a bit. Heh._

_Cas had a chat with Jack, asked him to be in the wedding party, and told him about Deanna. Jack agreed to stand up with us, and to help us with Deanna. Cas told me that Jack said that he thought that it would be “cool” to help out as Deanna grows older._

_Cas is no longer sharing his vessel with Lucifer; Shann decided to take Luci up on the offer of research assistance in exchange for use of Shann’s body. Shann gets to stay in control, and it seems to be working out okay, so far. I was present when Shann asked Cas if he could just speaking directly with Luci for a minute, and Cas let Lu come forward to speak with Shann, and it was a little freaky, but Lu did a good job of assuaging Shann’s nerves, but after he retreated back into Cas, Shann asked me about my experience having been Michael’s vessel. I told Shann that Michael and Lucifer were different cases; even at his worst, Lucifer was never a liar - he preferred the stark truth, as I saw when he was in Sam. But Michael just did whatever Michael wanted to do, whenever, to whomever, without compunction. Between the two of them, in my judgment, Michael was the worst case scenario, and Lu was positively trustworthy by comparison. Then I left to go shopping for things for Deanna’s room, and Cas and Shann talked a little more, and then Shann said ‘yes’ to Lucifer, and Lucifer left Cas for Shann. So, now, Cas is just Cas again, and I have to say it’s a relief. Obviously, yes, I’m concerned for Shann, but I’m not in love with_ **_him_ ** _!_

_When I came back from shopping, the switch had been made, and Cas let me know right away - and then suggested that we get back to our ‘one new thing’ schedule, as Lucifer had been putting a damper on our sex life lately, and now that was over. I was completely on board with that suggestion._

_But first I wanted to get Deanna’s bedroom set up for her. The Men of Letters’ furnishings are fine for adult guests, and Sam and I had never had anything of our own to have any sort of preference, really. It’s not like any of the angels care about paint or curtains or the like. So, beyond hanging up my weapons collection and a few pieces of art, I’ve never done much about decorating, and neither has Sam, and I doubt any of the angels ever thought of it (except maybe Gabriel, but I don’t know if he’s done any decorating, even if he considered it). But a little girl who’s actually going to be living here for much of her life deserves some special things, so I wanted to spiff things up for her. I got some pink paint and painted an accent wall in the room right next door to the room that Cas and I share - didn’t want Deanna to have to wander around and get lost in the Bunker, which is huge and confusing until you know your way around, if she needed me in the night. And then I got four different sets of bed linens and rugs and such, so that if I picked one and she didn’t like it, we could change it out right away. I really wanted her to be comfortable immediately in her own space._

_So, what I actually picked to put out for her is a set with white and two different shades of pink, with floor rugs, comforter, sheets, blankets, pillow cases and shams, and then I got this kind of hanger thing that hangs from the ceiling, and you drape tulle over it to make a tent. It sounds easier than it is - it took six grown men to construct, assemble, and hang the silly thing - but it ended up looking great. And then we strung fairy twinkle lights all around the room, and I set it up so she could have just the twinkle lights, or those and a lamp, or both of those with the overhead light, depending on what she needed to do, with just the flick of a switch. We also assembled an extra floor-to-ceiling bookcase, and Sam put up the little glow-in-the-dark galaxy on the ceiling. By the time we were done, with just the twinkle lights on, the room looked like the entrance to a celestial fairy bower, a romantic fantasy for a little girl - and if Deanna had turned out to be a tomboy, I would have been doomed. But as it turns out, she’s actually a fairly “girly” girl, and she loved the room when she finally arrived late this afternoon._

_When we’d finished that, Cas and I sat down to do our five-year planning. I explained the assignment to him, and asked him to come to the next therapy session with me, which he says he’s happy to do. I also apologized, because I’d meant to ask him as soon as I got home from therapy on Tuesday, but the call with Lilah about Deanna had just blown it out of my mind. He didn’t understand why that was cause for an apology, so I explained that I had sworn that therapy would be my first priority, that he was right when he said that therapy had to come first, no matter what. It still does, no matter how much progress I’ve made, and no matter what else comes up in life. I had backslid, and had some catching up to do, and I had to start with acknowledging the error and apologizing for it. Cas, always gracious, accepted the apology, and promised to be better about reminding me about my therapy work, if it seemed like life was getting out of hand again. He’s so good for me._

_So then we sat down to discuss plans, and I told him this: “the only thing I know for certain, Cas, is that wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I want to be with you. There are other things I can think of, like getting the Salvage Yard going and restoring the cars, and raising Deanna, but all of that - every bit of it - is secondary to the plans I want - need - to make with you, Angel. Deanna, Sam, Gabe, they’re family, and they’re important, but you’re my_ **_life_ ** _. And that’s not gonna change. I need for you to know that, Cas.”_

_He said that he agreed, but with the caveat that Deanna would have to change things at least a bit, because until she’s grown up, she’ll have to be a priority for both of us - not more important that each other, but maybe_ **_as_ ** _important. I disagreed. I told him that maybe I’d change my mind when she arrived and I met her, but I didn’t think I would. I’ll love her fiercely, and want to protect her and spend time with her, etc., but - and this sounds harsh, I know - if Anne Marie hadn’t died and I’d never found out about Deanna, I would have lived my whole life without knowing and I would have been fine. But I can’t live without Cas. Now, of course, Deanna will be a priority for both of us, but Cas isn’t a mere priority to me. I need Cas like I need air to breathe. He’s a_ **_necessity_ ** _._

_Cas, of course, then pointed out that I might be expressing that in a way that’s just a tad unhealthy. He pointed out that it’s unlikely that he’ll die, but we both know how fragile existence can be - who better than us, to know that? We, who have each already died several times and been resurrected, but are unlikely to be brought back yet again, because who would do it, now? We both have to accept that the loss of the other is possible, but if that happened, the other would have to go on, for Deanna’s sake if nothing else. “Like it or not, the knowledge of her existence, now that we have it, does change our dynamic. It has to.” And, of course, he’s right._

_So, we decided that we would sit down and discuss plans the next morning, but it was getting late, and we were both getting tired - without Lucifer’s Archangel energy, even Cas was planning to sleep - and we both wanted to be together, so we got ready for bed. I won’t go too far into the steamy details (sorry, Mia), but Cas wanted two things - to be in charge that night, and to have me fulfill one of his fantasies the next morning, Cas in charge is always a revelation to me. I’ve been through such bad experiences in Hell with having someone else in charge of my sexual experience - rape, succubus torture, being Alastair’s sex slave - that you’d think that I wouldn’t want to submit, but I do, to Cas. Because I_ **_know_ ** _that I can trust him not to hurt me, and he doesn’t. He gives me what I need, cares for me, never fails to consider how best to give me pleasure, so I can relax, and let my guard down, let him in, let him take the reins, and just feel. And I need that. In everyday life, combat, hunting, etc., I’m so often the one making the decisions, who has to be in control, and it’s exhausting. Submitting to Cas is like switching all that off. I’m no masochist - I’ve been through_ **_more_ ** _than enough pain, thanks - but I do need to just hand over control now and then, and I can do that with Cas. I don’t think I could do that with anyone else. The trust level just wouldn’t be there. But I_ **_know_ ** _that I can trust Cas, implicitly, with everything I am._

_The fantasy that Cas wanted to experience, though, kind of almost required that_ **_I_ ** _be the one in charge. And I found it surprisingly easy to give the same back to him - care and love, no pain, letting him relax and let go. And of course, he needs that, too. He was the commander of one of Heaven’s garrisons, he’s technically in command of Heaven even now - heck, he’s been God, poor guy. And it hit me that while he’s the only person that I can relax with, the same goes the other way. I’m the only person that_ **_he_ ** _can really truly relax with, too. I do have a slight tendency toward the sadistic, but although I do love to tease Cas, I can’t ever bring myself to want to hurt him. I just want to draw out the pleasure._

_Anyway, the next morning, we did sit down to plan, and we wrote down some goals - see attached. We started out small - what did we want to accomplish by the end of the year, just the next six weeks. I know you wanted five years, but I just can’t see that far ahead right now._

_One note about the attached - we just wrote down “role play” for one of the goals, so I have to explain that, Mia. Remember that I told you about the Amy Pond incident, and Sam shooting my daughter, Emma, after, partly to save me, but partly in revenge? I told Cas what you had said about needing my relationship with Sam more than I needed to have a confrontation with Sam about my remaining anger over that, and I suggested that Cas and I could go down to the boiler room, he could soundproof it, and we could role play, with him playing Sam, so I would have a safe place to let that emotion out, without taking it out on Sam._

_I didn’t stop to think, though, about how role playing like that might affect Cas. He said that while he liked the idea of me letting out the toxic feelings in a safe way, he didn’t think that he could or should be the person playing Sam. He said, “We’ve had our own troubled past, and I’m concerned that if you and I were in a soundproofed room, with you letting out all that anger at Sam that you’ve tamped down for so long, that my own insecurities would rise up again. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to play that role for you, Dean. There have just been too many times when I’ve felt that you were taking your anger at others, or at a situation, out on me, for me to feel comfortable with this scenario.”_

_And of course, he’s completely right. I made Cas into my whipping post for far too long, and treated him far too badly, for him to be comfortable falling back into that situation, and it was wrong of me to ask it of him. I should have realized. So, I apologized, and we moved on, at Cas’ insistence, but I still feel badly, and I think he does, too. And I’m not sure what else I can or should do about it._

_I don’t want to drop into a shame spiral, but I do think that my tendency toward thoughtlessness is potentially destructive, and I’d like some help developing strategies so that I don’t keep doing things like that. I don’t want to hurt Cas - or anyone - but especially not because I just didn’t think enough of the consequences my words or actions might have for them._

_Deanna arrived with Jody and Claire in the afternoon. One look was all it took. I’m in love with my daughter, Mia. I have a daughter! And she’s beautiful and smart and funny and sweet. And she does have powers. As I was showing her to her room, we were chatting, and she asked if she should restart all the clocks. Apparently, when her mother was dying in the hospital, they made Deanna leave her side when visiting hours ended. She thought that if the clocks weren’t working and they couldn’t tell the visiting hours were over for sure, maybe they’d let her stay. So she wished for the clocks to stop, and they did. Everywhere. I can tell we’re going to have to be a little careful with asking her to do things, and in making sure that she knows what she is and is not allowed to do, but fortunately it seems that Anne Marie had been raising her well with good guidelines to follow regarding right and wrong._

_I wish that I remembered Anne Marie, but I don’t. Deanna says she has a picture of her in her things, that she’ll let me look at it when she unpacks her stuff. Maybe it will jog my memory._

_She started out calling me “Dean.” That’s about what I expected, frankly - after all, she doesn’t know me, or that much about me. But after just a few minutes of our little tour of the Bunker, she asked if she could call me “Daddy.” My heart expanded, just like the Grinch’s. Not that I didn’t have room for her before, but the emotions that flooded me when she said that… I just can’t._

_Apparently, Deanna has a little bit of guilt because she thinks she should have been able to “fix” Anne Marie’s cancer. Anne Marie told her it wasn’t her fault, and that she shouldn’t feel badly, and I said the same, but I know she still feels it. I’ll keep working with her on it._

_Deanna loved her room, just as it was. Especially the twinkle lights and the tent over her bed. She wanted to take a nap, and I think it was partly because she was tired, but more because she wanted to be inside the tent!_

_Sam’s been running, training for a marathon, and Gabe insists on going with him, but isn’t in nearly as good shape physically. So they tried having Gabe ride a bike, but Gabe didn’t know how, and crashed, mangling the only bicycle on hand. We do have a mini-scooter, though, and he apparently can handle that all right. Cas was in his element, practically giggling as he took up a pool on how soon Gabe would crash - which he won! I’ve seen Cas laugh, and smile subversively, but giggling? That one’s new. It was freaking adorable, actually._

_I sent two of my “therapy letters” out this week so far (I started small, sue me), to Alex and to Donna. Each of them called me immediately upon reading when they received them today, with very sweet reactions. In fact, during our call, Donna decided she’s going to come down and help us plan the wedding, and she’ll be arriving on Monday. I think we might even still have a room available for her; seems like the Bunker’s been filling up fast lately._

_In fact, this evening, right after the brief earthquake, Rowena arrived out of nowhere, abandoning Hell for the hope of safety with us. We haven’t gotten her story out of her, yet; we ate dinner (pizza) as the whole gang just after she arrived, and by the time that was over, everyone seemed ready for bed, so we all just went our separate ways. I’ll have a talk with Ro in the morning, and find out what was going on that has her so freaked out._

_Just after the earthquake and just before Ro showed up, Sam got a call to tell us that Donatello has died of a heart attack. Apparently it happened a couple of days ago, but they only found the body this morning, as he lives alone. Cas and Gabe think that the “automated prophet system” killed him when Chuck was “reactivated” as a prophet, when God left Chuck’s body. There can be only one active prophet at a time, and deactivating them apparently kills them._

_And that basically brings us up to the present. Cas is reading in bed, waiting for me, and I’m getting a little tired - long, long day - so I’ll end it here._

***

**_Saturday Evening_ **

_Just put Deanna to bed. She announced to me just after dinner that it had been a long week, a busy day, and she was full of a great dinner, and it was all making her tired, so she wanted to sleep. She’s so smart, Mia. She was going to put herself to bed, said she just wanted to say good night to me, and one more thing. And then she told me that she loves me. And I said that I love her, too, with all my heart, and she asked how I can be sure, when I haven’t even known that she existed for a full week yet. So, I told her about Emma. How I only knew my only other daughter for about ten minutes, but I still love her and think about her every day. And I told her about Ben (confirmed, he_ **_is_ ** _my son, more on that in a minute), and how I had to give him up to keep him safe, but I’ll always love him, and think about him every day, as well. And then I said “and you’ve been here almost a full 24 hours now, so how much more do you think I think about_ **_you_ ** _?” She giggled, and seemed to accept, then, that my love for her is real. We’re already so comfortable with each other._

_Now, on to the Ben thing. This morning, Deanna decided to investigate the Bunker on her own. We hadn’t set rules for her yet, nor told her that there were places in the Bunker where she ought not go, so she wasn’t being naughty, but I’m glad that we found her as quickly as we did. Cas could sense her, knew where she was, when she went downstairs, etc. And when I asked him how, he looked surprised, and said, “she’s yours.” I asked him about it late this afternoon, if it was like some kind of angelic DNA test, and he said “well, not exactly, but close enough, I suppose.”_

_So then, I had to know. He’d been around Ben; could he tell, was Ben my son? And when I asked, he said that yes, Ben was mine. So then I got a little weepy, thinking that I’d had him erase my son’s memories of me, and then Cas admitted that while he’d done what I had asked, what I had specifically mentioned hadn’t been enough. There were too many reminders of me, too many other people who knew about me, and so within a couple of weeks, they remembered me and were very confused. So Cas went to see Lisa, and explained the situation to her, how I felt that I had to be away from them to keep them safe. He gave her his cell phone number, and told her to call if there was ever even so much as a hint of supernatural danger. He assured me that she and Ben were fine, they understood, they weren’t in danger, and it appeared that my staying away from them had worked to keep the potential dangers away from them….with the caveat that they know all about me._

_That was not the understanding that I had had of what Cas had done, of what we had agreed that he would do. He lied to me, and he went behind my back to make arrangements for their safety that weren’t what I had asked him to do, and he kept it a secret from me for literally years. I felt betrayed, and angry, and I told him so._

_He said that he had dealt with a situation because he was the only one who could, under the circumstances, and that he had made sure that they understood that I did it because I cared about them, because he knew that I really did, and that he had done it, all of it, for me. He couldn’t see, initially, where he had misstepped. I had to explain to him why I was upset._

_I told him it was his_ **_unilateral_ ** _action, his having made a plan and executed it in_ **_secret_ ** _, without ever telling me there was a need, that angered me. That I felt like we had gotten past his rushing in to a situation to do what he thought best without conferring with others, especially me, and past the secrets and the lies. I felt like my foundation had shifted, and I didn’t know how to get past that._

_So then the poor guy thought I was breaking up with him. I wasn’t, and I said so. And Mia, as soon as we’d had the conversation, as soon as I’d told him how I felt… I didn’t feel nearly as angry as when it had first hit me. It felt like it just rolled off, and away. I could let it go. I had expressed my feelings, mostly calmly, and rationally, and explained them to him so that he understood where he’d gone wrong, and that was all I needed to do._

_Thinking about it now, it seems to me that he stepped in when he did, at a time when we weren’t together, we weren’t partners, and I suspect that if a similar situation occurred now, he’d handle it differently, because now he understands. With that in mind, how can I continue to be mad at the guy, when he was only trying to help, and, in fact,_ **_did_ ** _help? I can’t. I told him I could feel the anger draining out of me, even as we talked about it. He said he was proud of how far I’ve come with managing my anger issues, and thought you would be, as well, Mia. I agree, it’s progress._

_After we’d found Deanna this morning, we had breakfast, and then she broke my heart. She told me her mother would have punished her for stopping all the clocks, as a misuse of her powers, and she thought that I should punish her, now. She said that she’d known it was ‘naughty’ when she did it, but that her mother was in no shape to even notice, much less discipline her, at the time, and she was a little desperate to be able to spend more time with her, so she just did it anyway. I told her that I understood, that she’d just wanted to spend as much time as she could with her mother, and that I wasn’t going to ever punish her for that. We got past that, but then she insisted that I needed to set rules for her, because we both need to know when she’s misbehaving, and she needs to know that there will be consequences for when she does misbehave. I couldn’t believe how grown up she sounded. I know neither Sam nor I would ever have thought such a thing, growing up!_

_She told me that her mother’s #1 rule for her had been ‘don’t misuse your powers.’ She explained that she can read minds, but she actively tries not to...most of the time. Sometimes, she ‘snoops,’ and if she’d done that while her mother had been alive, Anne Marie would have smacked the back of her hand. She showed me her hand, and there was a bruise, and I was certain it was fresh, not something Anne Marie could have done weeks ago, before she died. So I asked Deanna if someone had been hurting her, and she said that she’d done it to herself, because she had snooped - on Gabriel. She hadn’t meant to, exactly, but she’d reached out with her powers and ‘heard’ more than she’d intended to, and knew that she was being naughty… so she punished herself, maybe a little harder than she’d meant to, and it left a bruise behind._

_I told her that I agreed with her mother that intentionally snooping on others’ thoughts is wrong. If someone is having a strong emotion and she picks it up unintentionally, because she can’t help it, that’s fine, that’s not her fault; but going looking and finding out something she’s not supposed to know, that’s a problem. But I’m not comfortable with smacking even the back of her hand. I don’t know if John ever really hit me, or if that’s just a false memory implanted by Alastair, but I know that I can’t ever hit my own child. So I suggested that we make a star chart, where she has chores to do, and for everything she does timely and well, she gets a star, and for every time she’s somehow ‘naughty,’ she loses a star, or more than one, depending on the severity of the offense. And at the end of the week, or the month, or whatever time period, we count up how many stars she’s earned and has left, and she gets some kind of treat for them. She suggested that system just sounded like bribing her to do well, and she told me that she knows she’s supposed to behave properly because it’s the right thing to do._

_So, I said back, “Well, but punishing you when you’re naughty has the same effect. It’s saying ‘I won’t punish you if you don’t misbehave.’ Isn’t that bribery, too?”_

_She replied,_ _“Well, yes, and no. I’d say punishing bad behavior teaches that actions have consequences.”_

_So, I pointed out that, “Well, and so do good actions - good actions have good consequences.”_

_We could both agree on that, so we grinned at each other, and went shopping. She needed more clothes, some toys, more books, and we needed the materials to make a star chart. I had to encourage her to get not just what she needed, but what she wanted, too. I don’t think she ever went hungry living with her mother, but I don’t think Anne Marie had a lot of cash lying around for extras, either. I figured I had four years to make up for, so indulging her - and myself - a little was okay (I suspect that her first Christmas in the Bunker will be a revelation for Deanna, because everyone here loves her already, and will want to contribute to making it good for her), so I played pack mule and carried the haul._

_We got back to the Bunker to find there was a research party, all hands on deck situation. Rowena took Deanna off to the kitchen to get something to eat while Sam and Cas brought me up to speed. Apparently, after Chuck-the-prophet was abandoned by Light (God), who had been using him as a vessel without permission for the past ten years, he went back into “prophet mode” and typed out a long piece that he calls ‘Origin Story,’ that talks about events on another planet somewhere back in the mists of time,_ **_before Light and Darkness_ ** _(God’s sister)_ **_were born_ ** _. And, it turns out, when Shann accidentally briefly stepped into an alternate universe through an invisible rift in the Bunker’s hallway (before Cas and Lucifer and Balthazar could fix those), he found a text similar to, and by the same author as, the one he’d been translating from Spanish for Sam, but it had significant differences, and one of them was kind of an epilogue by the author about an odd recurring dream he’d had. The epilogue was nearly identical, not necessarily in words, but in its ideas and content, to Chuck’s ‘Origin Story,’ which makes us think that it could be true, and that perhaps the “immortal and invincible” beings described in the story could still be around._

_By “immortal and invincible” what I mean is that not only are these beings who don’t die natural deaths over time due to the aging process, they also cannot be killed. Literally, one of them tried, in ‘Origin Story,’ to blow up that other planet, succeeded, got blown apart and out into space - yet didn’t die, eventually reforming, and even giving birth to twins with which she’d been pregnant prior to the explosion._

_We’re still working on figuring it all out, but Gabe suspects that the female being who blew up their planet, Delilah, and her mate, Malachai, are here, now, and that Malachai is the entity formerly known as “The Cosmic Entity” who was ruling over The Empty - the place where angels and demons go when they die, the entity that Cas annoyed so much that he got sent back, and who brought all the angels loyal to Cas back to help Cas fight Light (so the Entity wouldn’t have to) - and also is the entity who was terrorizing Rowena, in Hell. He mentioned to her, right before she came to the Bunker, that his mate was “finally awakening,” and apparently Delilah waking caused the earthquake that rocked the entire planet without explanation the other day. Malachai left the throne room to try to find Delilah, and that’s when Rowena left Hell to come to us, hoping the Bunker’s warding could keep them out and away from her. Frankly, I’m not sure it can. I don’t know how to ward against Gods, and I don’t think anyone ever tried to ward the Bunker to that extent._

_Jody had to get on the road and back to Sioux Falls; she has to be at work tomorrow, and she can’t leave Alex alone with Amy for too long. Alex has work, too, and Amy has some special needs, and Jody just needs to be there. But she left Claire with us, saying she thought Claire should maybe spend some time with Cas before the wedding, and she could help with the planning, and use our firing range to practice, etc., and Cas can either fly her back up when she wants to get home, or, Jody suggested that within a week or two the feds should be gone, and I should be able to fly under their radar again and come up to inspect the Salvage Yard and get things moving there._

_I spoke with Deanna about that, too. I told her that I don’t think I want to continue to be a hunter, that while I might do research or train new hunters, I want my new primary focus to be on auto salvage and restoration. I want her to be safe, and I don’t want to feel like I have to hide her away from the world, or send her away from me, to achieve that. She thought it would be a good idea to let me be around those I love. That made my heart melt a little, gotta say. She’s such a sweetheart._

_After I got Jody on the road, I found Cas, and that’s when we had the discussion about Ben that I described above. At the end of our talk, Cas said something that I find hard to believe, both because of my lack of role models, and because I know what a fuck-up I can be, in general. He said, “You’ll be such a good father, Dean. You already are.”_

_I replied, “Yeah, I’ve been a great father to Ben. Pfft. Didn’t know he existed until his eighth birthday, didn’t hang around long then, once Lisa denied he was mine. When I was with them, I made them miserable, and put them in danger. Then I had you erase their memories of me, which I thought was permanent, and I never once thought that it might not have worked. I’ve essentially ignored him for years, in the name of his safety. Yeah, I’m a great dad. Right. And with Deanna, again, didn’t know she existed until she was four and a half, and then I couldn’t even go and pick her up from her aunt’s myself, I had to send Jody and Claire, because I’m on the FBI’s most wanted list. Hoo, I’m really a spectacular father.”_

_But then he told me to “Stop that, Dean. You can’t help that neither Lisa nor Anne Marie decided to share with you the fact that you had offspring with them. You found out when you found out, and you only just now found out that Ben really is your son. And he has been safe, Dean; I’ve made sure of that because you couldn’t. And you know that to be true - you really couldn’t. And with Deanna, the second you found out about her, she became your priority. You sent Jody to get her for you, and bring her home to you, to us. And you’ve been so good to her, and for her, already. You are a good father, Dean. You_ **_are_ ** _. And if you asked them, I’m willing to bet both Ben and Deanna would say the same.”_

_Now, I’ll grant you, **Deanna** might think I’m a good father. She has no basis for comparison, and she hasn’t known me very long. Whether she’ll feel the same way when she’s 18 is another matter. _

_But **Ben**? Ben’s 17, in his senior year of high school. And in all that time, I was around for maybe 2 years, total, tops. At **best** , I’m an absentee father who doesn’t even pay child support, who tried to have his memories of me erased. And now, I’m wondering. If I do make these changes in my life, retire from hunting, get into auto salvage and restoration full time, should I contact Ben? Could it be possible to have him back in my life? He knows that I exist; Cas says he didn’t tell Ben of my paternity, and doesn’t know if Lisa ever admitted it. It’s likely he still doesn’t know that I’m actually his father. It’s much more likely that Ben thinks of me, if he thinks of me at all, as his mother’s fucked-up former boyfriend who abandoned them because Lisa ended up in the hospital because of me. It's not like he's trying to contact **me**._

_This isn’t just my general insecurity and self-loathing talking, Mia. I may have irreparably damaged Ben, or at least my relationship with him. I honestly don’t know what I could have done differently. I had to keep Lisa and Ben safe. But I miss them. Lisa wasn’t perfect, but she tried. Even when we started to fall apart as a couple, she was still a good friend, for a while, anyway. And Ben is mine, my son, and I swear, I’ve always known that deep down. From the first time I met him at his eighth birthday party, the kid was practically a mini-me. I’m scared, Mia. I so badly want him back in my life, but I am so afraid that if I contact him, I’ll find out that he hates me and wants nothing to do with me, and I don’t think I could take that._

_It’s getting late, and I need sleep. I’ll have to let this angst go for the moment to get any. I sense a very long session coming up on Tuesday. Lots to cover this week!_

_***_


End file.
